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•  •  J  • 


THE    BEAUTIES 


SHAKSPEARE 


BY    THE 


REV.    WILLIAM    DODD,    LL.D. 


Revised,  Corrected,  and  Enlarged 


Volume  I 


NEW  YORK:    46  East  T4TH  Street 

THOMAS    Y.    CROWELL    &    COMPANY 

BOSTON:  100  Purchase  Street 


c/6f8 


PREFACE 


I  SHALL  not  attempt  any  labored  encomiums  of 
Shakspeare,  or  endeavor  to  set  forth  his  perfec- 
tions, at  a  time  when  such  universal  and  just  ap- 
plause is  paid  him,  and  when  every  tongue  is  big 
with  his  boundless  fame.      He  himself  tells  us  — 

"  To  gild  refined  gold,  to  paint  the  lily, 
To  throw  a  perfume  on  the  violet, 
To  smooth  the  ice,  or  add  another  hue 
Unto  the  rainbow,  or  with  taper-light 
To  seek  the  beauteous  eye  of  heaven  to  garnish, 
Is  wasteful  and  ridiculous  excess." 

And  wasteful  and  ridiculous  indeed  it  would  be  to 
say  anything  in  his  praise,  when  presenting  the 
world  with  such  a  collection  of  Beauties  as  per- 
haps is  nowhere  to  be  met  with,  and,  I  may  very 
safely  affirm,  cannot  be  paralleled  from  the  produc- 
tions of  any  other  single  author,  ancient  or  modern. 
There  is  scarcely  a  topic,  common  with  other  writers, 
on  which  he  has  not  excelled  them  all;  there  are 
many  nobly  peculiar  to  himself,  where  he  shines 
(ill) 


iyi94432 


IV 


Preface, 


unrivalled,  and  like  the  eagle,  properest  emblem  of 
his  daring  genius,  soars  beyond  the  common  reach 
and  gazes  undazzled  on  the  sun.  His  flights  are 
sometimes  so  bold,  frigid  criticism  almost  dares  to 
disapprove  them ;  and  those  narrow  minds,  which 
are  incapable  of  elevating  their  ideas  to  the  sub- 
limity of  their  author's,  are  willing  to  bring  them 
down  to  a  level  with  their  own.  Hence  many  fine 
passages  have  been  condemned  in  Shakspeare  as 
rant  and  fustian,  intolerable  bombast  and  turgid 
nonsense,  which,  if  read  with  the  least  glow  of 
the  same  imagination  that  warmed  the  writer's 
bosom,  would  blaze  in  the  robes  of  sublimity,  and 
obtain  the  commendations  of  a  Longinus.  And, 
unless  some  of  the  same  spirit  that  elevated  the 
poet  elevate  the  reader  too,  he  must  not  presume  to 
talk  of  taste  and  elegance ;  he  will  prove  a  languid 
reader,  an  indifferent  judge,  and  a  far  more  indifferent 
critic  and  commentator. 

It  is  some  time  since  I  first  proposed  publishing 
this  collection ;  for  Shakspeare  was  ever,  of  all 
modern  authors,  my  chief  favorite  ;  and  during  my 
relaxations  from  my  more  severe  and  necessary 
studies  at  college,  I  never  omitted  to  read  and  in- 
dulge myself  in  the  rapturous  flights  of  this  de- 
lightful and  sweetest  child  of  fancy :  and  when  my 
imagination  has  been  heated  by  the  glowing  ardor 


Prejace,  v 

of  his  uncommon  fire,  have  never  failed  to  lament 
that  his  Beauties  should-  be  so  obscured,  and  that 
he  himself  should  be  made  a  kind  of  stage  for  bun- 
gling critics  to  show  their  clumsy  activity  upon. 

It  was  my  first  intention  to  have  considered  each 
play  critically  and  regularly  through  all  its  parts ; 
but  as  this  would  have  swelled  the  work  beyond 
proper  bounds,  I  was  obliged  to  confine  myself 
solely  to  a  collection  of  his  Poetical  Beauties ;  and  I 
doubt  not  every  reader  will  find  so  large  a  fund  for 
observation,  so  much  excellent  and  refined  morality, 
that  he  will  prize  the  work  as  it  deserves,  and  pay, 
with  me,  all  due  adoration  to  the  manes  of  Shak- 
speare. 

Longinus '  tells  us,  that  the  most  infallible  test  of 
the  true  sublime  is  the  impression  a  performance 
makes  upon  our  minds  when  read  or  recited.  *'  If," 
says  he,  "a  person  finds  that  a  performance  trans- 
ports not  his  soul,  nor  exalts  his  thoughts ;  that  it 
calls  not  up  into  his  mind  ideas  more  enlarged  than 
the  mere  sounds  of  the  words  convey,  but  on  atten- 
tive examination  its  dignity  lessens  and  declines,  he 
may  conclude,  that  whatever  pierces  no  deeper  than 
the  ears  can  never  be  the  true  sublime.  That,  on 
the  contrary,  is  grand  and  lofty,  which  the  more  we 

1  See  "  Longinus  on  the  Sublime,"  Sect.  7,  The  translation 
in  the  text  is  from  the  learned  Mr.  Smith. 


vi  Preface, 

consider,  the  greater  ideas  we  conceive  of  it :  whose 
force  we  cannot  possibly  withstand ;  which  immedi- 
ately sinks  deep,  and  makes  such  impression  on  the 
mind  as  cannot  easily  be  worn  out  or  effaced  :  in  a 
word,  you  may  pronounce  that  sublime,  beautiful, 
and  genuine,  which  always  pleases  and  takes  equally 
with  all  sorts  of  men.  For  when  persons  of  differ- 
ent humors,  ages,  professions,  and  inclinations  agree 
in  the  same  joint  approbation  of  any  performance, 
then  this  union  of  assent,  this  combination  of  so 
many  different  judgments,  stamps  a  high  and  indis- 
putable value  on  that  performance  which  meets  with 
such  general  applause."  This  fine  observation  of 
Longinus  is  most  remarkably  verified  in  Shakspeare ; 
for  all  humors,  ages,  and  inclinations  jointly  pro- 
claim their  approbation  and  esteem  of  him  ;  and  will, 
I  hope,  be  found  true  in  most  of  the  passages  which 
are  here  collected  from  him :  I  say  most,  because 
there  are  some  which  I  am  convinced  will  not  stand 
this  test :  the  old,  the  grave,  and  the  severe,  will  dis- 
approve, perhaps,  the  more  soft  and  (as  they  may 
call  them)  trifling  love-tales,  so  elegantly  breathed 
forth,  and  so  emphatically  extolled  by  the  young, 
the  gay,  and  the  passionate ;  while  these  will  esteem 
as  dull  and  languid  the  sober  saws  of  morality  and 
the  home-felt  observations  of  experience.  However, 
as  it  was    my  business  to  collect  for    readers    of  all 


Preface,  vii 

tastes  and  all  complexions,  let  me  desire  none  to  dis- 
approve what  hits  not  with  their  own  humor,  but  to 
turn  over  the  page,  and  they  will  surely  find  some- 
thing acceptable  and  engaging.  But  I  have  yet 
another  apology  to  make,  for  some  passages  intro- 
duced merely  on  account  of  their  peculiarity,  which 
to  some,  possibly,  will  appear  neither  sublime  nor 
beautiful,  and  yet  deserve  attention,  as  indicating 
the  vast  stretch,  and  sometimes  particular  turn,  of 
the  poet's  imagination. 

There  are  many  passages  in  Shakspeare  so  closely 
connected  with  the  plot  and  characters,  and  on  which 
their  Beauties  so  wholly  depend,  that  it  would  have 
been  absurd  and  idle  to  have  produced  them  here : 
hence  the  reader  will  find  little  of  the  inimitable 
Falstaff  in  this  work,  and  not  one  line  extracted  from 
the  "  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,"  one  of  Shakspeare's 
best  and  most  justly  admired  comedies :  whoever 
reads  that  play  will  immediately  see  there  was  noth- 
ing either  proper  or  possible  for  this  work:  which, 
such  as  it  is,  I  most  sincerely  and  cordially  recom- 
mend to  the  candor  and  benevolence  of  the  world : 
and  wish  everyone  that  peruses  it  may  feel  the  satis- 
faction I  have  frequently  felt  in  composing  it,  and 
receive  such  instructions  and  advantages  from  it  as 
it  is  well  calculated  and  well  able  to  bestow.  For  my 
own  part,  better  and  more  important  things  hence- 


VIU 


Preface. 


forth  demand  my  attention,  and  I  here,  with  no 
small  pleasure,  take  leave  of  Shakspeare  and  the 
critics  :  as  this  work  was  begun  and  finished  before  I 
entered  upon  the  sacred  function  in  which  I  am  now 
happily  employed,  let  me  trust  this  juvenile  perform- 
ance will  prove  no  objection,  since  graver,  and 
some  very  eminent  members  of  the  Church  have 
thought  it  no  improper  employ  to  comment,  explain, 
and  publish  the  works  of  their  own  country  poets. 

W.  DODD. 


CONTENTS 

VOL.    I. 


COMEDIES. 

PAGE 

All's  Well  that  Ends  Well       ....  3 

As  You  Like  It  .     .     = 10 

Comedy  of  Errors 24 

Love's  Labour  's  Lost 28 

Measure  for  Measure 36 

The  Merchant  of  Venice 50 

A  Midsummer-Night's  Dream  .....  67 

Much  Ado  about  Nothing   ......  78 

The  Taming  of  the  Shrew 89 

The  Tempest 94 

Twelfth  Night iii 

The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona       .     .     .118 

The  Winter's  Tale     ........  129 

HISTORICAL    PLAYS. 

King  John » 145 

King  Richard  II 164 

King  Henry  IV.   (Part  I.) 181 

(ix) 


X  Contents. 

PAGE 

King  Henry  IV.   (Part  II.) 201 

King  Henry  V 216 

King  Henry  VI.   (Part  I.) 236 

King  Henry  VI.   (Part  II.) 238 

King  Henry  VI.   (Part  IIL) 246 

King  Richard  III 257 

King  Henry  VIII 274 


PART  T. 

COMEDIES 


:  T  M  s         ^        ,  _ 

Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 


ALL'S   WELL  THAT   ENDS   WELL. 
ACT  I. 

ADVICE. 

Be  thou  blest,  Bertram !  and  succeed  thy  father 
In  manners,  as  in  shape!     Thy  blood,  and  virtue, 
Contend  for  empire  in  thee  ;   and  thy  goodness 
Share  with  thy  birthright !     Love  all,  trust  a  few. 
Do  wrong  to  none :  be  able  for  thine  enemy 
Rather  in  power  than  use ;  and  keep  thy  friend 
Under  thy  own  life's  key :  be  checked  for  silence. 
But  never  tax'd  for  speech. 

TOO    AMBITIOUS    LOVE. 

I  am  undone  ;   there  is  no  living,  none, 
If  Bertram  be  away.     'T  were  all  one, 
That  I  should  love  a  bright  particular  star, 
And  think  to  wed  it,  he  is  so  above  me : 
In  his  bright  radiance  and  collateral  light 


4  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Must  I  be  comforted,  not  in  his  sphere. 

The  ahibition'.iiv  rji)j  jvjve  thus  plagues  itself: 

The  hind' that  woulil' lie' na'ated  by  the  lion, 

.M<isJ.  /:Jiefpr. 'love.;   ;'T  was-  p^atty,  though  a  plague, 

V4  ^ee  him  'v^v^ryjhbur }  JfQ'.sit  and  draw 

His  arched  brows,  his  nawking  eye,  his  curls, 

In  our  heart's  table ;  '  heart  too  capable 

Of  every  line  and  trick  ^  of  his  sweet  favour :  ' 

Bujt  now  he  's  gone,  and  my  idolatrous  fancy 

Must  sanctify  his  reliques. 

COWARDICE. 

I  know  him  a  notorious  liar, 
Think  him  a  great  way  fool,  solely  a  coward ; 
Yet  these  fix'd  evils  sit  so  fit  in  him, 
That  they  take  place,  when  virtue's  steely  bones 
Look  bleak  i'  the  cold  wind. 


THE    REMEDY   OF   EVILS    GENERALLY    IN  OURSELVES. 

Our  remedies  oft  in  ourselves  do  lie. 
Which  we  ascribe  to  heaven :  the  fated  sky 
Gives  us  free  scope ;  only  doth  backward  pull 
Our  slow  designs  when  we  ourselves  are  dull. 

CHARACTER   OF    A   NOBLE   COURTIER. 

In  his  youth 
He  had  the  wit  which  I  can  well  observe 

1  Helena  considers  her  heart  as  the  tablet  on  which  his  resem- 
blance was  portrayed. 
*  Peculiarity  of  feature.  »  Countenance. 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well,  \ 

To-day  in  our  young  lords  ;   but  they  may  jest 
Till  their  own  scorn  return  to  them  unnoted, 
Ere  they  can  hide  their  levity  in  honour : 
So  like  a  courtier,  contempt  nor  bitterness 
Were  in  his  pride  or  sharpness  ;  if  they  were, 
His  equal  had  awaked  them,  and  his  ho-nour, 
Clock  to  itself,  knew  the  true  minute  when 
Exception  bid  him  speak,  and  at  this  time 
His  tongue  obey'd  his  '  hand  :  who  were  below  him 
He  used  as  creatures  of  another  place 
And  bow'd  his  eminent  top  to  their  low  ranks, 
Making  them  proud  of  his  humility. 

Such  a  man 
Might  be  a  copy  to  these  younger  times. 


ACT  n. 

HONOUR   DUE   TO    PERSONAL   VIRTUE   ONLY,    NOT    TO 
^  BIRTH. 

From  lowest  place  when  virtuous  things  proceed. 

The  place  is  dignified  by  the  doer's  deed : 

Where  great  additions  ^  swell's,  and  virtue  none. 

It  is  a  dropsied  honour.     Good  alone 

Is  good  without  a  name.     Vileness  is  so :  ^ 

The  property  by  what  it  is  should  go. 

Not  by  the  title.     She  is  young,  wise,  fair ; 

In  these  to  nature  she 's  immediate  heir ; 

1  His  is  put  for  its.  2  Titles. 

3  Good  is  good  independent  of  any  worldly  distinction,  and  so 
is  vileness  vile. 


6  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

And  these  breed  honour :   that  is  honour's  scorn, 
Which  challenges  itself  as  honours  born, 
And  is  not  like  the  sire  :   honours  thrive, 
When  rather  from  our  acts  we  them  derive 
Than  our  foregoers  :  the  mere  word  's  a  slave, 
Debosh'd  on  every  tomb,  on  every  grave, 
A  lying  trophy,  and  as  oft  is  dumb. 
Where  dust  and  damn'd  oblivion  is  the  tomb 
Of  honoured  bones  indeed. 


ACT    III. 

SELF-ACCUSATION   OF    TOO    GREAT    LOVE. 

Poor  lord  !  is  't  1 
That  chase  thee  from  thy  country  an/i  expose 
Those  tender  limbs  of  thine  to  the  event 
Of  the  none-sparing  war  ?  and  is  it  I 
That  drive  thee  from  the  sportive  court,  where  thou 
Wast  shot  at  with  fair  eyes,  to  be  the  mark 
Of  smoky  muskets  ?     O  you  leaden  messengers, 
That  ride  upon  the  violent  speed  of  fire. 
Fly  with  false  aim ;  move  the  still-peering  air, 
That  sings  with  piercing ;  do  not  touch  my  lord  ! 
Whoever  shoots  at  him,  I  set  him  there ; 
Whoever  charges  on  his  forward  breast, 
I  am  the  caitiff,  that  do  hold  him  to  't ; 
And,  though  I  kill  him  not,  I  am  the  cause 
His  death  was  so  effected  :  better  't  were, 
I  met  the  ravin  i  lion  when  he  roar'd 

1  Ravenous. 


All's  Well  That  Ends  Well.  7 

With  sharp  constraint  of  hunger ;  better  't  were 

That  all  the  miseries  which  nature  owes 

Were     mine     at     once.       No,     come    thou    home, 

Rousillon, 
Whence  honour  but  of  danger  wins  a  scar, 
As  oft  it  loses  all :   I  will  be  gone  ; 
My  being  here  it  is  that  holds  thee  hence  : 
Shall  I  stay  here  to  do  \?  no,  no,  although 
The  air  of  paradise  did  fan  the  house. 
And  angels  officed  all :   I  will  be  gone  ; 
That  pitiful  rumour  may  report  my  flight, 
To  consolate  thine  ear. 

A  maid's  honour. 

The  honour  of  a  maid  is  her  name  ;  and  no  legacy 
is  so  rich  as  honesty. 

ADVICE    TO    YOUNG   WOMEN. 

Beware  of  them,  Diana ;  their  promises,  entice- 
ments, oaths,  tokens,  and  all  these  engines  of  lust, 
are  not  the  things  they  go  under : '  many  a  maid  hath 
been  seduced  by  them  ;  and  the  misery  is,  example, 
that  so  terrible  shows  in  the  wreck  of  maidenhood, 
cannot  for  all  that  dissuade  succession,  but  that  they 
are  limed  with  the  twigs  that  threaten  them.  I  hope 
I  need  not  to  advise  you  further ;  but  I  hope  your  own 
grace  will  keep  you  where  you  are,  though  there  were 

1  They  are  not  the  things  for  which  their  names  would  make 
them  pass. 


8  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

no    further  danger  known  but    the  modesty   which 
is  so  lost. 


ACT    IV. 

CUSTOM    OF    SEDUCERS. 

Ay,  so  you  serve  us 
Till  we  serve  you :  but  when  you  have  our  roses, 
You  barely  leave  our  thorns  to  prick  ourselves 
And  mock  us  with  our  bareness.  , 


CHASTITY. 

Mine  honour 's  such  a  ring : 
My  chastity's  the  jewel  oi  our  house, 
Bequeathed  down  from  many  ancestors ; 
Which  were  the  greatest  obloquy  i'  the  world 
In  me  to  lose. 

LIFE   CHEQUERED. 

The  web  of  our  life  is  of  a  mingled  yarn,  good 
and  ill  together :  our  virtues  would  be  proud,  if  our 
faults  whipped  them  not ;  and  our  crimes  would 
despair,  if  they  were  not  cherished  by  our  virtues. 

A   COWARDLY    BRAGGART. 

Yet  am  I  thankful :  if  my  heart  were  great, 
'T  would  burst  at  this.     Captain  I  '11  be  no  more  ; 
But  I  will  eat  and  drink,  and  sleep  as  soft 
As  captain  shall :  simply  the  thing  I  am 


All 's  Well  Thai  Ends  Well.  9 

Shall  make  me  live.     Who  knows  himself  a  braggart 
Let  him  fear  this ;   for  it  will  come  to  pass, 
That  every  braggart  shall  be  found  an  ass. 
Rust,  sword !  cool,  blushes  !  and  Parolles,  live 
Safest  in  shame  .'  being  fool'd,  by  foolery  thrive  ! 
There  's  place  and  means  for  every  man  alive. 


ACT   V. 

AGAINST   DELAY. 

Let 's  take  the  instant  by  the  forward  top ; 
For  we  are  old,  and  on  our  quick'st  decrees 
The  inaudible  and  noiseless  foot  of  Time 
Steals  ere  we  can  effect  them. 


EXCUSE   FOR   UNSEASONABLE   DISLIKE. 

At  first 
I  stuck  my  choice  upon  her,  ere  my  heart 
Durst  make  too  bold  a  herald  of  my  tongue ; 
Where  the  impression  of  mine  eye  infixing, 
Contempt  his  scornful  prospective  did  lend  me. 
Which  warp'd  the  line  of  every  other  favour : 
Scorn'd  a  fair  colour,  or  expressed  it  stolen ; 
Extended  or  contracted  all  proportions, 
To  a  most  hideous  object.     Thence  it  came. 
That  she  whom  all  men  praised  and  whom  myself. 
Since  I  have  lost,  have  loved,  was  in  mine  eye 
The  dust  that  did  offend  it. 


AS   YOU    LIKE  IT. 


ACT    I. 


MODESTY   AND    COURAGE    IN   YOUTH. 

I  beseech  you,  punish  me  not  with  your  hard 
thoughts ;  wherein  I  confess  me  much  guilty,  to 
deny  so  fair  and  excellent  ladies  any  thing.  But  let 
your  fair  eyes  and  gentle  wishes  go  with  me  to  my 
trial :  wherein  if  I  be  foiled,  there  is  but  one  shamed 
that  was  never  gracious  ;  if  killed,  but  one  dead  that 
is  willing  to  be  so :  I  shall  do  my  friends  no  wrong, 
for  I  have  none  to  lament  me ;  the  world  no  injury, 
for  in  it  I  have  nothing ;  only  in  the  world  I  fill  up  a 
place,  which  may  be  better  supplied  when  I  have 
made  it  empty. 

PLAY-FELLOWS. 

We  still  have  slept  together, 
Rose  at  an  instant,  learn'd,  play'd,  eat  together ; 
And  wheresoe'er  we  went,  like  Juno's  swans, 
Still  we  went  coupled  and  inseparable. 


BEAUTY. 

Beauty  provoketh  thieves  sooner  than  gold. 


As  You  Like  It.  II 


ROSALIND    PROPOSING   TO    WEAR    MEN'S    CLOTHES. 

Were  it  not  better, 
Because  that  I  am  more  than  common  tall, 
That  I  did  suit  me  all  points  like  a  man? 
A  gallant  curtle-axe  '  upon  my  thigh, 
A  boar-spear  in  my  hand  ;  and  —  in  my  heart 
Lie  there  what  hidden  woman's  fear  there  will  — 
We  '11  have  a  swashing  ^  and  a  martial  outside  ; 
As  many  other  mannish  cowards  have, 
That  do  outface  it  with  their  semblances. 


ACT    II. 

SOLITUDE   PREFERRED    TO    A    COURT    LIFE,  AND  THE 
ADVANTAGES   OF   ADVERSITY. 

Now,  my  co-mates  and  brothers  in  exile. 
Hath  not  old  custom  made  this  life  more  sweet 
Than  that  of  painted  pomp?     Are  not  these  woods 
More  free  from  peril  than  the  envious  court? 
Here  feel  we  but  the  penalty  of  Adam, 
The  seasons'  difference,  as  the  icy  fang 
And  churlish  chiding  of  the  winter's  wind, 
Which,  when  it  bites  and  blows  upon  my  body, 
Even  till  I  shrink  with  cold,  I  smile  and  say, 
'  This  is  no  flattery :  these  are  counsellors 
That  feelingly  persuade  me  what  I  am.' 
Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity, 

»  Cutlass.  2  Swaggering. 


12  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Which,  like  the  toad,  ugly  and  venomous. 

Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head ; 

And  this  our  life  exempt  from  public  haunt 

Finds  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks, 

Sermons  in  stones  and  good  in  every  thing. 

REFLECTIONS   ON    THE   WOUNDED    STAG. 

Duke  Senior.     Come,  shall  we  go  and  kill  us  ven- 
ison? 
And  yet  it  irks  me  the  poor  dappled  fools. 
Being  native  burghers  of  this  desert  city. 
Should  in  their  own  confines  with  forked  heads  * 
Have  their  round  haunches  gored. 

1st  Lord.  Indeed,  my  lord, 

The  melancholy  Jaques  grieves  at  that ; 
And,  in  that  kind,  swears  you  do  more  usurp 
Than  doth  your  brother  that  hath  banishM  you. 
To-day,  my  lord  of  Amiens,  and  myself, 
Did  steal  behind  him  as  he  lay  along 
Under  an  oak  whose  antique  root  peeps  out 
Upon  the  brook  that  brawls  along  this  wood : 
To  the  which  place  a  poor  sequestered  stag. 
That  from  the  hunter's  aim  had  ta'en  a  hurt. 
Did  come  to  languish,  and,  indeed,  my  lord, 
The  wretched  animal  heaved  forth  such  groans 
That  their  discharge  did  stretch  his  leathern  coat 
Almost  to  bursting ;  and  the  big  round  tears 
Coursed  one  another  down  his  innocent  nose 
In  piteous  chase ;  and  thus  the  hairy  fool, 

1  Barbed  arrows. 


As  You  Like  It.  13 

Much  marked  of  the  melancholy  Jaques, 

Stood  on  the  extremest  verge  of  the  swift  brook, 

Augmenting  it  with  tears. 

Duke  S.  But  what  said  Jaques  ? 

Did  he  not  moralize  this  spectacle? 

ij/  Lord.     O,  yes,  into  a  thousand  similes. 
First,  for  his  weeping  in  the  needless  stream ; 
'  Poor  deer,'  quoth  he,  '  thou  mak'st  a  testament 
As  worldlings  do,  giving  thy  sum  of  more 
To  that  which   hath  too  much :  '  Then,   being  here 

alone. 
Left  and  abandoned  of  his  velvet  friends, 
'  'T  is  right,'  quoth  he  :    '  thus  misery  doth  part 
The  flux  of  company : '  anon,  a  careless  herd, 
Full  of  the  pasture,  jumps  along  by  him 
And  never  stays  to  greet  him  ;    '  Ay,'  quoth  Jaques, 
'  Sweep  on,  you  fat  and  greasy  citizens  ; 
'T  is  just  the  fashion  :   wherefore  do  you  look 
Upon  that  poor  and  broken  bankrupt  there  ? ' 


GRATITUDE    IN   AN   OLD    SERVANT. 

But  do  not  so.     I  have  five  hundred  crowns. 
The  thrifty  hire  I  saved  under  your  father, 
Which  I  did  store  to  be  my  foster-nurse, 
When  service  should,  in  my  old  limbs  lie  lame, 
And  unregarded  age  in  corners  thrown ; 
Take  that.     And  He  that  doth  the  ravens  feed, 
Yea,  providently  caters  for  the  sparrow, 
Be  comfort  to  my  age  !     Here  is  the  gold ; 
All  this  I  give  you.     Let  me  be  your  servant ; 


14  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Though  I  look  old,  yet  I  am  strong  and  lusty ; 
For  in  my  youth  I  never  did  apply 
Hot  and  rebellious  liquors  in  my  blood, 
Nor  did  not  with  unbashful  forehead  woo 
The  means  of  weakness  and  debility ; 
Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter, 
Frosty,  but  kindly :  let  me  go  with  you ; 
I  Ul  do  the  service  of  a  younger  man 
In  all  your  business  of  necessities. 

DESCRIPTION   OF   A    LOVER. 

O,  thou  didst  then  ne'er  love  so  heartily: 

If  thou  remember'st  not  the  slightest  folly 

That  ever  love  did  make  thee  run  into. 

Thou  hast  not  loved  : 

Or,  if  thou  hast  not  sat  as  I  do  now. 

Wearying  thy  hearer  in  thy  mistress'  praise, 

Thou  hast  not  loved : 

Or  if  thou  hast  not  broke  from  company, 

Abruptly,  as  my  passion  now  makes  me, 

Thou  hast  not  loved. 

DESCRIPTION     OF     A     FOOL,     AND    HIS     MORALIZING 
ON    TIME. 

*  Good-morrow,  fool,'  quoth  I.      '  No,  sir,'  quoth  he, 

'  Call  me  not  fool,  till  heaven  hath  sent  me  fortune :  ' 

And  then  he  drew  a  dial  from  his  poke ; 

And  looking  on  it  with  lack-lustre  eye. 

Says,  very  wisely,  '  It  is  ten  o'clock : 

Thus  may  we  see,'  quoth  he,  '  how  the  world  wags. 


As  You  Like  It.  15 

'T  is  but  an  hour  ago,  since  it  was  nine, 
And  after  an  hour  more,  'twill  be  eleven  ; 
And  so,  from  hour  to  hour,  we  ripe  and  ripe, 
And  then,  from  hour  to  hour,  we  rot  and  rot ; 
And  thereby  hangs  a  tale.'     When  I  did  hear 
The  motley  fool  thus  moral  on  the  time. 
My  lungs  began  to  crow  like  chanticleer. 
That  fools  should  be  so  deep-contemplative ; 
And  I  did  laugh,  sans  intermission. 
An  hour  by  his  dial.     O  noble  fool ! 
A  worthy  fool !  Motley's  the  only  wear.i 

Duke  S.     What  fool  is  this  ? 

yaq.     O    worthy  fool !     One    that    hath    been   a 
courtier ; 
And  says,  if  ladies  be  but  young  and  fair. 
They  have  the  gift  to  know  it :  and  in  his  brain, 
Which  is  as  dry  as  the  remainder  biscuit 
After  a  voyage,  he  hath  strange  places  cramm'd 
With  observation,  the  which  he  vents 
In  mangled  forms. 

A  fool's  liberty  of  speech. 

I  must  have  liberty 
Withal,  as  large  a  charter  as  the  wind, 
To  blow  on  whom  I  please ;  for  so  fools  have : 
And  they  that  are  most  galled  with  my  folly, 
They  most  must  laugh  :    and  why,  sir,  must  they  so? 
The  '  why '  is  plain  as  way  to  parish  church : 
He  that  a  fool  doth  very  wisely  hit, 

1  The  fool  was  anciently  dressed  in  a  party-coloured  coat. 


1 6  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Doth  very  foolishly,  although  he  smart, 
Not  to  seem  senseless  of  the  bob ;  if  not, 
The  wise  man's  folly  is  anatomized 
Even  by  the  squandering  glances  of  the  fool. 

APOLOGY   FOR    SATIRE. 

Why,  who  cries  out  on  pride, 
That  can  therein  tax  any  private  party? 
Doth  it  not  flow  as  hugely  as  the  sea. 
Till  that  the  weary  very  means  do  ebb  ? 
What  woman  in  the  city  do  I  name, 
When  that  I  say  the  city-woman  bears 
The  cost  of  princes  on  unworthy  shoulders? 
Who  can  come  in  and  s^y  that  I  mean  her, 
When  such  a  one  as  she  such  is  her  neighbour? 
Or  what  is  he  of  basest  function. 
That  says  his  bravery  ^  is  not  on  my  cost, 
Thinking  that  I  mean  him,  but  therein  suits 
His  folly  to  the  mettle  of  my  speech  ? 
There  then:    how  then?   what  then?     Let  me  see 

wherein 
My  tongue  hath  wrong'd  him  :  if  it  do  him  right, 
Then  he  hath  wronged  himself;   if  he  be  free. 
Why  then,  my  taxing  like  a  wild  goose  flies, 
Unclaim'd  of  any  man. 

A    TENDER    PETITION. 

But  whatever  you  are, 
That  in  this  desert  inaccessible, 

1  Finery. 


As  Yoii  Like  It.  17 

Under  the  shade  of  melancholy  boughs, 
Lose  and  neglect  the  creeping  hours  of  time ; 
If  ever  you  have  look'd  on  better  days, 
If  ever  been  where  bells  have  knolPd  to  church, 
If  ever  sat  at  any  good  man's  feast. 
If  ever  from  your  eyelids  wiped  a  tear, 
And  know  what  't  is  to  pity  and  be  pitied, 
Let  gentleness  my  strong  enforcement  be. 

THE    SEVEN   AGES. 

All  the  world  's  a  stage. 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players : 
They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances ; 
And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts. 
His  acts  being  seven  ages.     At  first  the  infant, 
Mewling  and  puking  in  the  nurse's  arms. 
And  then  the  whining  school-boy,  with  his  satchel 
And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  like  snail 
Unwillingly  to  school.     And  then  the  lover, 
Sighing  like  furnace,  with  a  woful  ballad 
Made  to  his  mistress'  eyebrow.     Then  a  soldier, 
Full  of  strange  oaths  and  bearded  like  the  pard, 
Jealous  in  honour,  sudden  ^  and  quick  in  quarrel. 
Seeking  the  bubble  reputation 
Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth.     And  then  the  justice, 
In  fair  round  belly  with  good  capon  lined. 
With  eyes  severe  and  beard  of  formal  cut. 
Full  of  wise  saws  and  modern  2  instances  ; 
And  so  he  plays  his  part.     The  sixth  age  shifts 

1  Violent.  *  Trite,  common. 


1 8  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Into  the  lean  and  slipper'd  pantaloon, 
With  spectacles  on  nose  and  pouch  on  side ; 
His  youthful  hose,  well  saved,  a  world  too  wide 
For  his  shrunk  shank;  and  his  big  manly  voice, 
Turning  again  toward  childish  treble,  pipes 
And  whistles  in  his  sound.     Last  scene  of  all. 
That  ends  this  strange  eventful  history, 
Is  second  childishness  and  mere  oblivion. 
Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  san  taste,  sans  every  thing. 

INGRATITUDE.       A  SONG. 

Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind, 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind  ' 
As  man^s  ingratitude ; 
Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen. 
Because  thou  art  not  seen. 
Although  thy  breath  be  rude. 
Heigh-ho  !  sing,  heigh-ho  !  unto  the  green  holly : 
Most  friendship  is  feigning,  most  loving  mere  folly ; 
Then,  heigh-ho,  the  holly  ! 
This  life  is  most  jolly. 

Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky, 
That  dost  not  bite  so  nigh 

As  benefits  forgot : 
Though  thou  the  waters  warp. 
Thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp 

As  friend  rememberM  '  not. 
Heigh-ho !  sing,  heigh-ho !  &c. 

»  Unnatural.  2  Remembering. 


As  You  Like  It,  19 

ACT  III. 

A  shepherd's  philosophy. 

I  know  the  more  one  sickens,  the  worse  at  ease  he 
is ;  and  he  that  wants  money,  means  and  content,  is 
without  three  good  friends :  that  the  property  of 
rain  is  to  wet  and  fire  to  burn ;  that  good  pasture 
makes  fat  sheep ;  and  that  a  great  cause  of  the  night 
is  lack  of  the  sun ;  that  he  that  hath  learned  no  wit 
by  nature  nor  art  may  complain  of  good  breeding  or 
comes  of  a  very  dull  kindred. 

CHARACTER  OF   AN  HONEST   AND  SIMPLE  SHEPHERD. 

Sir,  I  am  a  true  labourer :  I  earn  that  I  eat,  get 
that  I  wear,  owe  no  man  hate,  envy  no  man's 
happiness,  glad  of  other  men's  good,  content  with 
my  harm,  and  the  greatest  of  my  pride  is  to  see  my 
ewes  graze  and  my  lambs  suck. 

DESCRIPTION   OF    A   LOVER. 

A  lean  cheek,  which  you  have  not,  a  blue  eye, 
and  sunken,  which  you  have  not,  an  unquestionable 
spirit,^  which  you  have  not,  a  beard  neglected, 
which  you  have  not ;  but  I  pardon  you  for  that,  for 
simply  your  having  ^  in  beard  is  a  younger  brother's 
revenue.  Then  your  hose  should  be  ungartered, 
your    bonnet   unhanded,    your    sleeve    unbuttoned, 

1  A  spirit  averse  to  conversation.  2  Estate.  • 


20  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

your  shoe  untied,  and  every  thing  about  you  demon- 
strating a  careless  desolation.  But  you  are  no  such 
man  :  you  are  rather  point-device  ^  in  your  accoutre- 
ments as  loving  yourself  than  seeming  the  lover  of 
any  other. 

REAL    PASSION   DISSEMBLED. 

Think  not  I  love  him,  though  I  ask  for  him; 

'T  is  but  a  peevish  ^  boy ;  yet  he  talks  well ; 

But  what  care  I  for  words  ?  yet  words  do  well 

When  he  that  speaks  them  pleases  those  that  hear. 

It  is  a  pretty  youth  :   not  very  pretty : 

But,  sure,  he  's  proud,  and  yet  his  pride  becomes  him  : 

He'  11  make  a  proper  man  :   the  best  thing  in  him 

Is  his  complexion  ;  and  faster  than  his  tongue 

Did  make  offence  his  eye  did  heal  it  up. 

He  is  not  very  tall ;  yet  for  his  years  he 's  tall : 

His  leg  is  but  so  so  ;  and  yet  't  is  well : 

There  was  a  pretty  redness  in  his  lip, 

A  little  riper  and  more  lusty  red 

Than  that  mix'd  in  his  cheek  ;  't  was  just  the  difference 

Betwixt  the  constant  red  and  mingled  damask. 

There  be  some  women,  Silvius,  had  they  marked  him 

In  parcels  as  I  did,  would  have  gone  near 

To  fall  in  love  with  him :  but,  for  my  part, 

I  love  him  not  nor  hate  him  not ;  and  yet 

I  have  more  cause  to  hate  him  than  to  love  him : 

For  what  had  he  to  do  to  chide  at  me  ? 

He  said,  mine  eyes  were  black  and  my  hair  black ; 

•  1  Over-exact.  « Silly. 


As  You  Like  It.  21 

And,  now  I  am  remembered,  scorn'd  at  me : 

I  marvel  why  I  answered  not  again : 

But  that 's  all  one ;  omittance  is  no  quittance. 


ACT   IV. 

THE   VARIETIES   OF    MELANCHOLY. 

I  have  neither  the  scholar's  melancholy,  which  is 
emulation,  nor  the  musician's,  which  is  fantastical, 
nor  the  courtier's,  which  is  proud,  nor  the  soldier's, 
which  is  ambitious,  nor  the  lawyer's,  which  is  politic 
nor  the  lady's,  which  is  nice,'  nor  the  lover's,  whic> 
is  all  these. 


MARRIAGE  ALTERS  THE  TEMPER  OF  BOTH  SEXES. 

Say  '  a  day,'  without  the  '  ever.'  No,  no,  Orlando  •- 
men  are  April  when  they  woo,  December  when  the«« 
wed :  maids  are  May  when  they  are  maids,  but  th^, 
sky  changes  when  they  are  wives.  I  will  be  more 
jealous  of  thee  than  a  Barbary  cock-pigeon  over  his 
hen,  more  clamorous  than  a  parrot  against  rain,  more 
new-fangled  than  an  ape,  more  giddy  in  my  desires 
than  a  monkey :  I  will  weep  for  nothing,  like  Diana 
in  the  fountain,  and  I  will  do  that  when  you  are  dis- 
posed to  be  merry ;  I  will  laugh  like  a  hyen,  and  that 
when  thou  art  inclined  to  sleep. 

1  Trifling. 


2  2  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


CUPID'S    PARENTAGE. 

No,  that  same  wicked  bastard  of  Venus,  that  was 
begot  of  thought,'  conceived  of  spleen,  and  born  of 
madness,  that  blind  rascally  boy,  that  abuses  every 
one's  eyes  because  his  own  are  out,  let  him  be  judge, 
how  deep  I  am  in  love. 

Oliver's  description  of  his  danger  when 
sleeping. 

Under  an  oak,  whose  boughs  were  moss'd  with  age 

And  high  top  bald  with  dry  antiquity, 

A  wretched  ragged  man,  o'ergrown  with  hair, 

Lay  sleeping  on  his  back  :  about  his  neck 

A  green  and  gilded  snake  had  wreath'd  itself. 

Who  with  her  head  nimble  in  threats  approach'd 

The  opening  of  his  mouth  ;  but  suddenly 

Seeing  Orlando,  it  unlink'd  itself, 

And  with  indented  glides  did  slip  away 

Into  a  bush  :  under  which  bush's  shade 

A  lioness,  with  udders  all  drawn  dry, 

Lay  couching,  head  on  ground,  with  catlike  watch. 

When  that  the  sleeping  man  should  stir ;  for  't  is 

The  royal  disposition  of  that  beast 

To  prey  on  nothing  that  doth  seem  as  dead. 

1  Melancholy. 


As  You  Like  It.  23 


ACT  V. 

LOVE. 

Phebe.    Good  shepherd,  tell  this  youth  what  't  is  to 

love. 
Silvms.    It  is  to  be  all  made  of  sighs  and  tears  ; — 
It  is  to  be  all  made  of  faith  and  service  ;  — 
It  is  to  be  all  made  of  fantasy, 
All  made  of  passion,  and  all  made  of  wishes  ; 
All  adoration,  duty,  and  observance. 
All  humbleness,  all  patience,  and  impatience, 
All  purity,  all  trial,  all  observance. 


COMEDY   OF    ERRORS. 

ACT   II. 

man's  preeminence. 

There  's  nothing,  situate  under  heaven's  eye. 
But  hath  his  bound,  in  earth,  in  sea,  in  sky : 
The  beasts,  the  fishes  and  the  winged  fowls, 
Are  their  males'  subject  and  at  their  controls : 
Men,  more  divine,  the  masters  of  all  these. 
Lords  of  the  wide  world  and  wild  watery  seas, 
Indued  with  intellectual  sense  and  souls, 
Of  more  preeminence  than  fish  and  fowls, 
Are  masters  to  their  females,  and  their  lords : 
Then  let  your  will  attend  on  their  accords. 

PATIENCE   EASIER   TAUGHT   THAN   PRACTISED. 

Patience  unmoved  !  no  marvel  though  she  pause  ; 

They  can  be  meek  that  have  no  other  cause. 

A  wretched  soul,  bruised  with  adversity, 

We  bid  be  quiet  when  we  hear  it  cry ; 

But  were  we  burden'd  with  like  weight  of  pain. 

As  much  or  more  we  should  ourselves  complain. 


Ccmedy  of  Errors.  25 


DEFAMATION. 

I  see,  the  jewel,  best  enamelled, 
Will  lose  his  beauty ;  and  though  gold  'bides  still, 
That  others  touch,  yet  often  touching  will 
Wear  gold :  and  so  no  man,  that  hath  a  name, 
But  falsehood  and  corruption  doth  it  shame. 


JEALOUSY. 

Ay,  ay,  Antipholus,  look  strange,  and  frown ; 
Some  other  mistress  hath  thy  sweet  aspects ; 
I  am  not  Adriana  nor  thy  wife. 

The  time  was  once,  when  thou  unurged  wouldst  vow 
That  never  words  were  music  to  thine  ear. 
That  never  object  pleasing  in  thine  eye, 
That  never  touch  well  welcome  to  thy  hand. 
That  never  meat  sweet-savour'd  in  thy  taste. 
Unless  I  spake,  or  look'd,  or  touched,  or  carved  to 
thee. 

ACT   III. 

SLANDER. 

For  slander  lives  upon  succession. 

For  ever  housed  where  it  gets  possession. 


26  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

ACT   V. 

A  woman's  jealousy  more  deadly  than  poison. 

The  venom  clamours  of  a  jealous  woman 

Poisons  more  deadly  than  a  mad  idog's  tooth. 

It  seems  his  sleeps  were  hinder'd  by  thy  railing, 

And  thereof  comes  it  that  his  head  is  light. 

Thou    say'st,    his  meat   was    sauced    with    thy  up- 

braidings : 
Unquiet  meals  make  ill  digestions ; 
Thereof  the  raging  fire  of  fever  bred ; 
And  what 's  a  fever  but  a  fit  of  madness  ? 
Thou  say'st,  his  sports  were  hinder'd  by  thy  brawls : 
Sweet  recreation  barr'd,  what  doth  ensue 
But  moody  and  dull  melancholy. 
Kinsman  to  grim  and  comfortless  despair, 
And  at  her  heels  a  huge  infectious  troop 
Of  pale  distemperatures  and  foes  to  life  ? 

DESCRIPTION   of   A   BEGGARLY   FORTUNE-TELLER. 

A  hungry,  lean-faced  villain, 
A  mere  anatomy,  a  mountebank, 
A  threadbare  juggler  and  a  fortune-teller, 
A  needy,  hollow-eyed,  sharp-looking  wretch, 
A  living-dead  man :  this  pernicious  slave. 
Forsooth,  took  on  him  as  a  conjurer ; 
And,  gazing  in  mine  eyes,  feeling  my  pulse, 
And  with  no  face,  as  'twere,  outfacing  me. 
Cries  out,  I  was  possess'd. 


Comedy  of  Errors,  27 


OLD   AGE. 

Though  now  this  grained  *  face  of  mine  be  hid 
In  sap-consuming  winter's  drizzled  snow, 
And  all  the  conduits  of  my  blood  froze  up, 
Yet  hath  my  night  of  life  some  memory, 
My  wasting  lamp  some  fading  glimmer  left, 
My  dull  deaf  ears  a  little  use  to  hear : 
All  these  old  witnesses  —  I  cannot  err  — 
Tell  me,  thou  art  my  son  Antipholus. 

*  Furrowed,  lined. 


LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST. 
ACT  I. 

SELF-DENIAL. 

Brave  conquerors  !  —  for  so  you  are 
That  war  against  your  own  affections 
And  the  huge  army  of  the  world's  desires. 

VANITY   OF   PLEASURE. 

Why,  all  delights  are  vain ;  but  that  most  vain, 
Which  with  pain  purchased  doth  inherit  pain. 

ON    STUDY. 

Study  is  like  the  heaven's  glorious  sun 

That  will  not  be  deep-search'd  with  saucy  looks ; 
Small  have  continual  plodders  ever  won, 

Save  base  authority  from  others'  books. 
These  earthly  godfathers  of  heaven's  lights 

That  give  a  name  to  every  fixed  star 
Have  no  more  profit  of  their  shining  nights 

Than  those  that  walk  and  wot  not  what  they  are. 
Too  much  to  know  is  to  know  naught  but  fame : 
And  every  godfather  can  give  a  name. 


Uyve's  Labour  's  Lost.  29 


FROST. 

An  envious  sneaping^  frost, 
That  bites  the  first-born  infants  of  the  spring. 

A   CONCEITED    COURTIER. 

A  man  in  all  the  world's  new  fashion  planted. 

That  hath  a  mint  of  phrases  in  his  brain ; 
One  whom  the  music  of  his  own  vain  tongue 

Doth  ravish  like  enchanting  harmony ; 
A  man  of  complements,  whom  right  and  wrong 

Have  chose  as  umpire  of  their  mutiny : 
This  child  of  fancy  that  Armado  hight  ^ 

For  interim  to  our  studies,  shall  relate, 
In  high-born  words  the  worth  of  many  a  knight 

From  tawny  Spain  lost  in  the  world's  debate. 


ACT  II. 

BEAUTY. 

My  beauty,  though  but  mean, 
Needs  not  the  painted  flourish  of  your  praise ; 
Beauty  is  bought  by  judgment  of  the  eye. 
Not  utter'd  by  base  sale  of  chapmen's  tongues. 

A   MERRY   MAN. 

A  merrier  man, 
Within  the  limit  of  becoming  mirth, 

1  Nipping.  2  Is  called. 


30  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

I  never  spent  an  hour's  talk  withal : 
His  eye  begets  occasion  for  his  wit ; 
For  every  object  that  the  one  doth  catch, 
The  other  turns  to  a  mirth-moving  jest ; 
Which  his  fair  tongue,  conceit's  expositor, 
Delivers  in  such  apt  and  gracious  words 
That  aged  ears  play  truant  at  his  tales 
And  younger  hearings  are  quite  ravished ; 
So  sweet  and  voluble  is  his  discourse. 


ACT  III. 

HUMOROUS    DESCRIPTION   OF    LOVE. 

And  I,  forsooth,  in  love!    I,  that  have  been  love's 

whip; 
A  very  beadle  to  a  humorous  sigh  ; 
A  critic,  nay,  a  night-watch  constable ; 
A  domineering  pedant  o'er  the  boy, 
Than  whom  no  mortal  so  magnificent ! 
This  wimpled,*  whining,  purblind,  wayward  boy; 
This  senior-junior,  giant-dwarf,  Dan  Cupid  ; 
Regent  of  love-rhymes,  lord  of  folded  arms. 
The  anointed  sovereign  of  sighs  and  groans, 
Liege  of  all  loiterers  and  malcontents. 
Dread  prince  of  plackets, '^  king  of  codpieces. 
Sole  imperator  and  great  general 
Of  trotting  'paritors.^  —  O  my  little  heart !  — 
And  I  to  be  a  corporal  of  his  field, 

1  Hooded,  veiled.  *  Petticoats. 

3 The  officers  of  the  spiritual  courts,  who  serve  citations. 


Lome's  Labour  's  Lost.  31 

And  wear  his  colours  like  a  tumbler's  hoop  ! 
What,  I  !    I  love  !    I  sue  !    I  seek  a  wife  ! 
A  woman,  that,  is  like  a  German  clock, 
Still  a-repairing,  ever  out  of  frame. 
And  never  going  aright,  being  a  watch. 
But  being  watch'd  that  it  may  still  go  right ! 


ACT  IV. 

SONNET. 

Did  not  the  heavenly  rhetoric  of  thine  eye 

'Gainst  whom  the  world  can  not  hold  argument 
Persuade  my  heart  to  this  false  perjury? 

Vows  for  thee  broke,  deserve  not  punishment. 
A  woman  I  forswore ;  but  I  will  prove. 

Thou  being  a  goddess,  I  forswore  not  thee : 
My  vow  was  earthly,  thou  a  heavenly  love ; 

Thy  grace  being  gained,  cures  all  disgrace  in  me. 
Vows  are  but  breath,  and  breath  a  vapour  is : 

Then  thou,  fair  sun,  which  on  my  earth  dost  shine, 
Exhalest  this  vapour-vow  ;  in  thee  it  is  : 

If  broken  then,  it  is  no  fault  of  mine  ; 
If  by  me  broke,  what  fool  is  not  so  wise 
To  lose  an  oath  to  win  a  paradise  ? 

SONG. 

On  a  day  —  alack  the  day  !  — 
Love,  whose  month  in  every  May, 
Spied  a  blossom  passing  fair 


32  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Playing  in  the  wanton  air ; 
Through  the  velvet  leaves  the  wind 
All  unseen,  can  passage  find  ; 
That  the  lover,  sick  to  death, 
Wish'd  himself  the  heaven's  breath. 
Air,  quoth  he,  thy  cheeks  may  blow ; 
Air,  would  I  might  triumph  so  ! 
But,  alack,  my  hand  is  sworn, 
Ne'er  to  pluck  thee  from  thy  thorn ; 
Vow,  alack,  for  youth  unmeet, 
Youth  so  apt  to  pluck  a  sweet ! 
Do  not  call  it  sin  in  me. 
That  I  am  forsworn  for  thee ; 
Thou  for  whom  Jove  would  swear 
Juno  but  an  Ethiope  were  ; 
And  deny  himself  for  Jove, 
Turning  mortal  for  thy  love. 

THE   POWER   OF   LOVE. 

But  love,  first  learned  in  a  lady's  eyes, 
Lives  not  alone  immured  in  the  brain ; 
But,  with  the  motion  of  all  elements. 
Courses  as  swift  as  thought  in  every  power ; 
And  gives  to  every  power  a  double  power, 
Above  their  functions  and  their  offices. 
It  adds  a  precious  seeing  to  the  eye ; 
A  lover's  eyes  will  gaze  an  eagle  blind ; 
A  lover's  ear  will  hear  the  lowest  sound, 
when  the  suspicious  head  of  theft  is  stopp'd  ; 
Love's  feeling  is  more  soft  and  sensible 


Love's  Labour  's  Lost.  33 

Than  are  the  tender  horns  of  cockled  snails  ; 

Love's  tongue  proves  dainty  Bacchus  gross  in  taste : 

For  valour,  is  not  Love  a  Hercules, 

Still  climbing  trees  in  the  Hesperides? 

Subtle  as  sphinx  ;  as  sweet  and  musical 

As  bright  Apollo's  lute,  strung  with  his  hair ; 

And  when  Love  speaks,  the  voice  of  all  the  gods 

Makes  heaven  drowsy  with  the  harmony. 

Never  durst  poet  touch  a  pen  to  write 

Until  his  ink  were  tempered  with  Love's  sighs ; 

O,  then  his  lines  would  ravish  savage  ears. 

And  plant  in  tyrants  mild  humility. 

women's  eyes. 

From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive ; 
They  sparkle  still  the  right  Promethean  fire ; 
They  are  the  books,  the  arts,  the  academes 
That  show,  contain  and  nourish  all  the  world ; 
Else  none  at  all  in  aught  proves  excellent. 


ACT   V. 

JEST   AND   JESTER. 

Rosaline.     Your  task  shall  be. 
With  all  the  fierce'  endeavour  of  your  wit 
To  enforce  the  pained  impotent  to  smile. 

Biron.     To  move  wild  laughter  in  the  throat  of 
death? 

*  Vehement. 


34  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

It  can  not  be ;  it  is  impossible : 
Mirth  cannot  move  a  soul  in  agony. 

Ros.     Why,   that 's    the    way  to    choke   a  gibing 
spirit, 
Whose  influence  is  begot  of  that  loose  grace 
Which  shallow  laughing  hearers  give  to  fools : 
A  jest's  prosperity  lies  in  the  ear 
Of  him  that  hears  it,  never  in  the  tongue 
Of  him  that  makes  it. 

SONG. 

spring.  When  daisies  pied  and  violets  blue 
And  lady-smocks  all  silver-white 
And  cuckoo-buds  of  yellow-hue 

Do  paint  the  meadows  with  delight, 
The  cuckoo  then,  on  every  tree, 
Mocks  married  men ;  for  thus  sings  he, 

Cuckoo ; 
Cuckoo,  cuckoo ;  O  word  of  fear, 
Unpleasing  to  a  married  ear  ! 

When  shepherds  pipe  on  oaten  straws 
And  merry  larks  are  ploughmen's  clocks, 

When  turtles  tread,  and  rooks,  and  daws. 
And  maidens  bleach  their  summer  smocks, 

The  cuckoo  then,  on  every  tree. 

Mocks  married  men,  for  thus  sings  he, 
Cuckoo ; 

Cuckoo,  cuckoo  :  O  word  of  fear, 

Unpleasing  to  a  married  ear ! 


Love's  Labour  's  Lost,  35 

Winter.    When  icicles  hang  by  the  wall 

And  Dick  the  shepherd  blows  his  nail 
And  Tom  bears  logs  into  the  hall, 

And  milk  comes  frozen  home  in  pail. 
When  blood  is  nipp'd  and  ways  be  foul, 
Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 

Ttt-whit ; 
Tu-who,  a  merry  note. 
While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  •  the  pot. 

When  all  aloud  the  wind  doth  blow 

And  coughing  drowns  the  parson's  saw 

And  birds  sit  brooding  in  the  snow 
And  Marian's  nose  looks  red  and  raw, 

When  roasted  crabs  ^  hiss  in  the  bowl, 

Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 
Tu-whit ; 

Tu-who,  a  merry  note. 

While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

1  Cool.  a  Wild  apples. 


MEASURE    FOR    MEASURE. 
ACT  l.^ 

VIRTUE    GIVEN   TO    BE   EXERTED. 

Heaven  doth  with  us  as  we  with  torches  do, 

Not  light  them  for  themselves  ;  for  if  our  virtues 

Did  not  go  forth  of  us,  't  were  all  alike 

As  if  we  had  them  not.     Spirits  are  not  finely  touchM 

But  ':o  fine  issues,'  nor  Nature  never  lends 

The  smallest  scruple  of  her  excellence 

But,  like  a  thrifty  goddess,  she  determines 

Herself  the  glory,  of  a  creditor, 

Both  thanks  and  use.'^ 

THE   CONSEQUENCE   OF    LIBERTY    INDULGED. 

As  surfeit  is  the  father  of  much  fast. 
So  every  scope  by  the  immoderate  use 
Turns  to  restraint.     Our  natures  do  pursue, 
Like  rats  that  ravin  ^  down  their  proper  bane, 
A  thirsty  evil ;  and  when  we  drink  we  die. 

ELOQUENCE   AND   BEAUTY. 

In  her  youth 
There  is  a  prone  *  and  speechless  dialect, 

1  For  high  purposes.  '  Interest. 

'  Voraciously  devour.  *  Prompt. 


Measure  for  Measure.  37 

Such  as  move  men ;  beside,  she  hath  prosperous  art 
When  she  will  play  with  reason  and  discourse, 
And  well  she  can  persuade. 


PARDON    THE   SANCTION   OF   WICKEDNESS. 

For  we  bid  this  be  done. 
When  evil  deeds  have  their  permissive  pass 
And  not  the  punishment. 

A   SEVERE   GOVERNOR. 

Lord  Angelo  is  precise  ; 
Stands  at  a  guard  ^  with  envy ;  scarce  confesses 
That  his  blood  flows,  or  that  his  appetite 
Is  more  to  bread  than  stone :    hence  shall  we  see. 
If  power  change  purpose,  what  our  seemers  be. 

RESOLUTION. 

Our  doubts  are  traitors 
And  make  us  lose  the  good  we  oft  might  win 
By  fearing  to  attempt. 

THE  PRAYERS  OF  MAIDENS  EFFECTUAL. 

Go  to  Lord  Angelo, 
And  let  him  learn  to  know,  when  maidens  sue. 
Men  give  like  gods ;  but  when  they  weep  and  kneel, 
All  their  petitions  are  as  freely  theirs 
As  they  themselves  would  owe  2  them. 

1  On  his  defence,  2  Have. 


38  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 


ACT  II. 

ALL   MEN   FRAIL. 

Let  but  your  honour  know.i 

Whom  I  believe  to  be  most  strait  in  virtue, 

That,  in  the  working  of  your  own  affections, 

Had  time  cohered  ^  with  place  or  place  with  wishing, 

Or  that  the  resolute  acting  of  your  blood 

Could  have  attained  the  effect  of  your  own  purpose. 

Whether  you  had  not  sometime  in  your  life 

Err'd  in  this  point  which  now  you  censure  him. 

And  puird  the  law  upon  you. 

THE  FAULTS  OF  OTHERS  NO  JUSTIFICATION  OF 
OUR  OWN. 

'T  is  one  thing  to  be  tempted,  Escalus, 
Another  thing  to  fall.     I  not  deny. 
The  jury,  passing  on  the  prisoner's  life, 
May  in  the  sworn  twelve  have  a  thief  or  two 
Guiltier  than  him  they  try.     What 's  open  made  to 

justice, 
That  justice  seizes  :  what  know  the  laws. 
That  thieves  do  pass  ^  on  thieves  ?     'T  is  very  preg- 
nant,* 
The  jewel  that  we  find,  we  stoop  and  take  't. 
Because  we  see  it ;  but  what  we  do  not  see 
We  tread  upon,  and  never  think  of  it. 

1  Examine.  *  Suited. 

8  Pass  judgment.  *  Plain. 


Measure  for  Measure,  39 

You  may  not  so  extenuate  his  offence 

For '  I  have  had  such  faults ;  but  rather  tell  me. 

When  I,  that  censure^  him,  do  so  offend, 

Let  mine  own  judgement  pattern  out  my  death, 

And  nothing  come  in  partial. 


MERCY   FREQUENTLY    MISTAKEN. 

Mercy  is  not  itself,  that  oft  looks  so ; 
Pardon  is  still  the  nurse  of  second  woe. 


MERCY   IN   GOVERNORS   COMMENDED. 

No  ceremony  that  to  great  ones  'longs. 
Not  the  king's  crown,  nor  the  deputed  sword, 
The  marshal's  truncheon,  nor  the  judge's  robe. 
Become  them  with  one  half  so  good  a  grace, 
As  mercy  does. 

THE   DUTY   OF   MUTUAL    FORGIVENESS. 

Alas !  alas ! 
Why,  all  the  souls  that  were  were  forfeit  once ; 
And  He  that  might  the  vantage  best  have  took 
Found  out  the  remedy.     How  would  you  be, 
If  He,  which  is  the  top  of  judgement,  should 
But  judge  you  as  you  are?     O,  think  on  that ; 
And  mercy  then  will  breathe  within  your  lips, 
Like  man  new  made. 

1  Because.  •  Sentence. 


40  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


JUSTICE. 

Isabella.    Yet  show  some  pity. 

Aiigelo.    I  show  it  most  of  all  when  I  show  justice  ; 
For  then  I  pity  those  I  do  not  know, 
Which  a  dismissed  offence  would  after  gall ; 
And  do  him  right,  that,  answering  one  foul  wrong, 
Lives  not  to  act  another. 


THE   ABUSE    OF    AUTHORITY. 

O,  it  is  excellent 
To  have  a  giant's  strength  ;   but  it  is  tyrannous 
To  use  it  like  a  giant. 
Could  great  men  thunder, 

As  Jove  himself  does,  Jove  would  ne'er  be  quiet, 
For  every  pelting,^  petty  officer 
Would  use  his  heaven  for  thunder ; 
Nothing  but  thunder  !     Merciful  Heaven, 
Thou  rather  with  thy  sharp  and  sulphurous  bolt 
Split'st  the  unwedgeable  and  gnarled  *  oak 
Than  the  soft  myrtle  :    but  man,  proud  man 
Drest  in  a  little  brief  authority. 
Most  ignorant  of  what  he  's  most  assured, 
His  glassy  essence,  like  an  angry  ape, 
Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  heaven 
As  make  the  angels  weep ;  who,  with  our  spleens, 
Would  all  themselves  laugh  mortal. 

1  Paltry.  2  Knotted. 


Measure  for  Measure.  41 

THE   PRIVILEGE    OF   AUTHORITY. 

Great  men  may  jest  with  saints  ;  't  is  wit  in  them, 
But  in  the  less  foul  profanation. 
That  in  the  captain  's  but  a  choleric  word, 
Which  in  the  soldier  is  fiat  blasphemy. 

HONEST   BRIBERY. 

Isabella.     Hark,    how    I  Ul  bribe    you :    good  my 

lord,  turn  back. 
Angela.     How!    bribe  me? 
Isab.     Ay,  with  such  gifts  that  heaven  shall  share 

with  you. 
Lucio.      [Aside  to  Isabella. ~\      You  had  marr'd   all 

else. 
Isab.     Not  with  fond  shekels  of  the  tested  ^  gold. 
Or  stones  whose  rates  are  either  rich  or  poor 
As  fancy  values  them ;   but  with  true  prayers 
That  shall  be  up  at  heaven  and  enter  there 
Ere  sun-rise,  prayers  from  preserved  ^  souls, 
From  fasting  maids  whose  minds  are  dedicate 
To  nothing  temporal. 

THE    POWER    OF   VIRTUOUS    BEAUTY. 

Is  this  her  fault  or  mine  ? 
The  tempter  or  the  tempted,  who  sins  most? 
Ha! 
Not  she ;  nor  does  she  tempt :  but  it  is  I 

*  Attested,  stamped. 

•Preserved  from  the  corruption  of  the  world. 


42  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

That,  lying  by  the  violet  in  the  sun, 

Do  as  the  carrion  does,  not  as  the  flower. 

Corrupt  with  virtuous  season.     Can  it  be 

That  modesty  may  more  betray  our  sense 

Than    woman's    lightness?       Having   waste    ground 

enough. 
Shall  we  desire  to  raze  the  sanctuary. 
And  pitch  our  evils  there?  '     O,  fie,  fie,  fie ! 
What  dost  thou,  or  what  art  thou,  Angelo? 
Dost  thou  desire  her  foully  for  those  things 
That  make  her  good?     O,  let  her  brother  live  : 
Thieves  for  their  robbery  have  authority 
When  judges  steal  themselves.    What,  do  I  love  her, 
That  I  desire  to  hear  her  speak  again. 
And  feast  upon  her  eyes  ?     What  is  't  I  dream  on  ? 
O  cunning  enemy,  that,  to  catch  a  saint, 
With  saints  dost  bait  thy  hook  !     Most  dangerous 
Is  that  temptation  that  doth  goad  us  on 
To  sin  in  loving  virtue  :  never  could  the'  strumpet, 
With  all  her  double  vigour,  art  and  nature, 
Once  stir  my  temper ;  but  this  virtuous  maid 
Subdues  me  quite. 

LOVE    IN   A   GRAVE    SEVERE    GOVERNOR. 

When  I  would  pray  and  think,  I  think  and  pray 
To  several  subjects.    Heaven  hath  my  empty  words ; 
Whilst  my  invention,  hearing  not  my  tongue, 
Anchors  on  Isabel:   Heaven  in  my  mouth, 
As  if  I  did  but  only  chew  his  name ; 

iSee  2  Kings,  x.  27. 


Measure  for  Measure,  43 

And  in  my  heart  the  strong  and  swelling  evil 
Of  my  conception.     The  state,  whereon  I  studied, 
Is  like  a  good  thing,  being  often  read. 
Grown  fear'd  and  tedious  ;  yea,  my  gravity, 
Wherein  —  let  no  man  hear  me  —  I  take  pride, 
Could  I  with  boot  ^  change  for  an  idle  plume. 
Which  the  air  beats  for  vain.     O  place,  O  form, 
How  often  dost  thou  with  thy  case,^  thy  habit, 
Wrench  awe  from  fools  and  tie  the  wiser  souls 
To  thy  false  seeming? 

FORNICATION   AND    MURDER    EQUALLED. 

It  were  as  good 
To  pardon  him  that  hath  from  nature  stolen 
A  man  already  made,  as  to  remit 
Their  saucy  sweetness  that  do  coin  heaven's  image. 
In  stamps  that  are  forbid :  't  is  all  as  easy 
Falsely  to  take  away  a  life  true  made 
As  to  put  metal  in  restrained  means 
To  make  a  false  one. 


LOWLINESS    OF   MIND. 

Isabella.     Let  me  be    ignorant,   and    in    nothing 
good. 
But  graciously  to  know  I  am  no  better. 

Angelo.     Thus   wisdom    wishes    to   appear   most 
bright 
When  it  doth  tax  itself. 

1  Profit.  a  Outside. 


44  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

TEMPORAL  FAR  BETTER  THAN  ETERNAL  DEATH. 

Better  it  were  a  brother  died  at  once, 
Than  that  a  sister,  by  redeeming  him, 
Should  die  for  ever. 


women's  frailty. 
Angela.    Nay,  women  are  frail  too. 
Isabella.    Ay,  as  the  glasses  where  they  view  them- 
selves ; 
Which  are  as  easy  broke  as  they  make  forms. 
Women  !     Help  Heaven  !   men  their  creation  mar 
In  profiting  by  them.     Nay,  call  us  ten  times  frail ! 
For  we  are  soft  as  our  complexions  are, 
And  credulous  to  false  prints.* 


ACT  in. 

HOPE. 

The  miserable  have  no  other  medicine 
But  only  hope. 

REFLECTIONS    ON   THE   VANITY   OF   LIFE. 

Reason  thus  with  life  : 
If  I  do  lose  thee,  I  do  lose  a  thing 
That  none  but  fools  would  keep :   a  breath  thou  art. 
Servile  to  all  the  skyey  influences, 

1  Impressions. 


Measure  for  Measure.  45 

That  dost  this  habitation,  where  thou  keep'st, 

Hourly  afflict :  merely,  thou  art  death's  fool ; 

For  him  thou  labourist  by  thy  flight  to  shun 

And  yet   runn'st  toward  him  still.       Thou  art  not 

noble  ; 
For  all  the  accommodations  that  thou  bear'st 
Are    nursed    by    baseness.      Thou'rt    by  no    means 

valiant ; 
For  thou  dost  fear  the  soft  and  tender  fork 
Of  a  poor  worm.     Thy  best  of  rest  is  sleep, 
And  that  thou  oft  provokest ;  yet  grossly  fear'st 
Thy  death,  which  is  no  more.     Thou  art  not  thyself; 
For  thou  exist'st  on  many  a  thousand  grains 
That  issue  out  of  dust.     Happy  thou  art  not ; 
For  what  thou  hast  not,  still  thou  strivest  to  get, 
And  what  thou  hast,  forget'st.     Thou  art  not  certain ; 
For  thy  complexion  shifts  to  strange  effects, 
After  the  moon.      If  thou  art  rich,  thouVt  poor ; 
For,  like  an  ass,  whose  back  with  ingots  bows. 
Thou  bear'st  thy  heavy  riches  but  a  journey. 
And  death  unloads  thee.     Friend  hast  thou  none ; 
For  thine  own  bowels,  which  do  call  thee  sire. 
The  mere  effusion  of  thy  proper  loins. 
Do  curse  the  gout,  serpigo,^  and  the  rheum. 
For  ending  thee  no  sooner.     Thou  hast  nor  youth  noi 

age, 
But,  as  it  were,  an  after-dinner's  sleep. 
Dreaming  on  both  ;   for  all  thy  blessed  youth 
}3ecomes  as  aged,  and  doth  beg  the  alms 
Of  palsied  eld  ;  ^  and  when  thou  art  old  and  rich, 

1  Leprous  eruptions.  2  Old  age. 


46  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Thou  hast  neither  heat,  affection,  limb,  nor  beauty, 
To  make  thy  riches  pleasant.     What 's  yet  in  this, 
That  bears  the  name  of  life?     Yet  in  this  iife 
Lie  hid  moe  thousand  deaths :  yet  death  we  fear, 
That  makes  these  odds  all  even. 


THE   TERRORS   OF    DEATH    MOST    IN   APPREHENSION. 

O,  I  do  fear  thee,  Claudio ;  and  I  quake, 
Lest  thou  a  feverous  life  shouldst  entertain, 
And  six  or  seven  winters  more  respect 
Than  a  perpetual  honour.     Barest  thou  die  ? 
The  sense  of  death  is  most  in  apprehension ; 
And  the  poor  beetle,  that  we  tread  upon. 
In  corporal  sufferance  finds  a  pang  as  great 
As  when  a  giant  dies. 

RESOLUTION   FROM    A   SENSE   OF    HONOUR. 

Why  give  you  me  this  shame  ? 
Think  you  I  can  a  resolution  fetch 
From  flowery  tenderness?     If  I  must  die, 
I  will  encounter  darkness  as  a  bride, 
And  hug  it  in  mine  arms. 

THE    HYPOCRISY   OF   ANGELO. 

There  my  father's  grave 
Did  utter  forth  a  voice.     Yes,  thou  must  die: 
Thou  art  too  noble  to  conserve  a  life 
In  base  appliances.     This  outward-sainted  deputy,— 
Whose  settled  visage  and  deliberate  word 


Measure  for  Measure  47 

Nips  youth  T  the  head  and  follies  doth  emmew,' 
As  falcon  doth  the  fowl,  i;  yet  a  devil ; 
His  filth  within  being  cast,  he  would  appear 
A  pond  as  deep  as  hell. 


THE   TERRORS   OF   DEATH. 

Claudia.    Death  is  a  fearful  thing. 

Isabella.  And  shamed  life  a  hateful. 

Claudia.     Ay,   but  to  die,  and  go  we  know  nol 
where ; 
To  lie  in  cold  obstruction  and  to  rot ; 
This  sensible  warm  motion  to  become 
A  kneaded  clod ;  and  the  delighted  spirit 
To  bathe  in  fiery  floods,  or  to  reside 
In  thrilling  region  of  thick-ribbed  ice  ; 
To  be  imprisoned  in  the  viewless  2  winds, 
And  blown  with  restless  violence  round  about 
The  pendent  world ;  or  to  be  worse  than  worst 
Of  those,  that  lawless  and  incertain  thought 
Imagine  howling :   'tis  too  horrible  ! 
The  weariest  and  most  loathed  worldly  life, 
That  age,  ache,  penury,  and  imprisonment 
Can  lay  on  nature  is  a  paradise 
To  what  we  fear  of  death. 


VIRTUE   AND    GOODNESS. 

Virtue  is  bold,  and  goodness  never  fearful. 

1  Shut  up.  J  Invisible. 


48  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


A   BAWD. 

The  evil  thiit  thou  causest  to  be  done, 

That  is  thy  means  to  live.     Do  thou  but  think 

What  't  is  to  cram  a  maw  or  clothe  a  back 

From  such  a  filthy  vice :   say  to  thyself, 

From  their  abominable  and  beastly  touches 

I  drink,  I  eat,  array  myself,  and  live. 

Canst  thou  believe  thy  living  is  a  life. 

So  stinkingly  depending?     Go,  mend,  go,  mend. 


ACT    IV. 

SONG. 

Take,  oh  take,  those  lips  away, 

That  so  sweetly  were  forsworn ; 
And  those  eyes,  the  break  of  day. 

Lights  that  do  mislead  the  morn. 
But  my  kisses  bring  again,  bring  again ; 
Seals  of  love,  but  seaPd  in  vain,  seal'd  in  vain. 

[Hide,  oh  hide,  those  hills  of  snow. 

Which  thy  frozen  bosom  bears. 
On  whose  tops  the  pinks  that  grow 

Are  of  those  that  April  wears : 
But  my  poor  heart  first  set  free. 
Bound  in  those  icy  chains  by  thee.] 


Measure  for  Measure.  49 


GREATNESS     SUBJECT    TO     CENSURE. 

O  place  and  greatness  !  millions  of  false  eyes 
Are  stuck  upon  thee :  volumes  of  report 
Run  with  these  false  and  most  contrarious  quests 
Upon  thy  doings  :  thousand  escapes'  of  wit 
Make  thee  the  father  of  their  idle  dreams 
And  rack  thee  in  their  fancies. 

SOUND     SLEEP. 

As  fast  lock'd  up  in  sleep  as  guiltless  labour 
When  it  lies  starkly''  in  the  traveller's  bones. 


ACT   V. 

CHARACTER   OF   AN   ARCH    HYPOCRITE. 

0  prince,  I  conjure  thee,  as  thou  believest 
There  is  another  comfort  than  this  world, 
That  thou  neglect  me  not,  with  that  opinion 

That  I  am  touched  with  madness  !     Make  not  impos- 
sible 
That  which  but  seems  unlike :   'tis  not  impossible, 
But  one,  the  wicked'st  caitiif  on  the  ground, 
May  seem  as  shy,  as  grave,  as  just,  as  absolute. 
As  Angelo ;  even  so  may  Angelo, 
In  all  his  dressings,^  characts,  titles,  forms. 
Be  an  arch- villain  ;  believe  it,  royal  prince  : 
If  he  be  less,  he 's  nothing ;   but  he  's  more, 
Had  I  more  name  for  badness. 

1  Sallies.  2  Stiffly.  »  Habits  and  characters  of  office. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 
ACT   I. 

MIRTH   AND    MELANCHOLY. 

Now,  by  two-headed  Janus, 
Nature  hath  framed  strange  fellows  in  her  time : 
Some  that  will  evermore  peep  through  their  eyes 
And  laugh  like  parrots  at  a  bag-piper, 
And  other  of  such  vinegar  aspect 
That  they  '11  not  show  their  teeth  in  way  of  smile, 
Though  Nestor  swear  the  jest  be  laughable. 

WORLDLINESS. 

You  have  too  much  respect  upon  the  world ; 
They  lose  it  that  do  buy  it  with  much  care. 

THE  world's  true  VALUE. 

I  hold  the  world  but  as  the  world,  Gratiano ; 
A  stage,  where  every  man  must  play  a  part. 

cheerfulness. 

Let  me  play  the  fool : 
With  mirth  and  laughter  let  old  wrinkles  come, 
And  let  my  liver  rather  heat  with  wine 


The  Merchant  of  Venice,  51 

Than  my  heart  cool  with  mortifying  groans. 
Why  should  a  man,  whose  blood  is  warm  within, 
Sit  like  his  grandsire  cut  in  alabaster? 
Sleep  when  he  wakes  and  creep  into  the  jaundice 
By  being  peevish  ? 

AFFECTED   GRAVITY. 

I  tell  thee  what,  Antonio,  — 
I  love  thee,  and  it  is  my  love  that  speaks  — 
There  are  a  sort  of  men  whose  visages 
Do  cream  and  mantle  like  a  standing  pond, 
And  do  a  wilful  stillness  ^  entertain, 
With  purpose  to  be  dress'd  in  an  opinion 
Of  wisdom,  gravity,  profound  conceit, 
As  who  should  say  '  I  am  Sir  Oracle, 
And  when  I  ope  my  lips  let  no  dog  bark  ! ' 
O  my  Antonio,  I  do  know  of  these 
That  therefore  only  are  reputed  wise 
For  saying  nothing. 

LOQUACITY. 

Gratiano  speaks  an  infinite  deal  of  nothing,  more 
than  any  man  in  all  Venice.  His  reasons  are  as  two 
grains  of  wheat  hid  in  two  bushels  of  chaff;  you 
shall  seek  all  day  ere  you  find  them,  and,  when  you 
have  them,  they  are  not  worth  the  search. 

1  Obstinate  silence. 


5  2  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 


MEDIOCRITY. 

For  aught  I  see,  they  are  as  sick  that  surfeit  with 
too  much  as  they  that  starve  with  nothing.  It  is  no 
mean  happiness  therefore,  to  be  seated  in  the  mean : 
superfluity  comes  sooner  by  white  hairs,  but  com- 
petency lives  longer. 

SPECULATION    MORE     EASY    THAN     PRACTICE. 

If  to  do  were  as  easy  as  to  know  what  were  good 
to  do,  chapels  had  been  churches  and  poor  men's 
cottages  princes'  palaces.  It  is  a  good  divine  that 
follows  his  own  instructions :  I  can  easier  teach 
twenty  what  were  good  to  be  done,  than  be  one  of 
the  twenty  to  follow  mine  own  teaching.  The 
brain  may  devise  laws  for  the  blood,  but  a  hot  tem- 
per leaps  o'er  a  cold  decree :  such  a  hare  is  madness 
the  youth,  to  skip  o'er  the  meshes  of  good  counsel 
the  cripple. 

THE    JEW'S    MALICE. 

Bassanio.     This  is  Signior  Antonio. 

Shy  lock.      \^Aside.'\     How  like  a  fawning  publican 
he  looks ! 
I  hate  him  for  he  is  a  Christian, 
But  more  for  that  in  low  simplicity 
He  lends  out  money  gratis  and  brings  down 
The  rate  of  usance  here  with  us  in  Venice. 
If  I  can  catch  him  once  upon  the  hip, 
I  will  feed  fat  the  ancient  grudge  I  bear  him. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice.  53 

He  hates  our  sacred  nation,  and  he  rails, 
Even  there  where  merchants  most  do  congregate, 
On  me,  my  bargains,  and  my  well-won  thrift, 
Which  he  calls  interest.     Cursed  be  my  tribe, 
If  I  forgive  him ! 


HYPOCRISY. 

Mark  you  this,  Bassanio, 
The  devil  can  cite  Scripture  for  his  purpose. 
An  evil  soul  producing  holy  witness 
Is  like  a  villain  with  a  smiling  cheek, 
A  goodly  apple  rotten  at  the  heart : 
O,  what  a  goodly  outside  falsehood  hath  ! 


THE   JEW'S    EXPOSTULATION. 

Signior  Antonio,  many  a  time  and  oft 
In  the  Rialto  you  have  rated  me 
About  my  moneys  and  my  usances  : ' 
Still  have  I  borne  it  with  a  patient  shrug. 
For  sufferance  is  the  badge  of  all  our  tribe. 
You  call  me  misbeliever,  cut-throat  dog, 
And  spit  upon  my  Jewish  gaberdine. 
And  all  for  use  of  that  which  is  mine  own. 
Well  then,  it  now  appears  you  need  my  help : 
Go  to,  then ;  you  come  to  me,  and  you  say, 
*  Shylock,  we  would  have  moneys :'  you  say  so; 
You,  that  did  void  your  rheum  upon  my  beard 
A.nd  foot  me  as  you  spurn  a  stranger  cur 

1  Interest. 


54  Beauties  of  Shahspeare. 

Over  your  threshold  :  moneys  is  your  suit. 

What  should  I  say  to  you?     Should  I  not  say 

'  Hath  a  dog  money  ?  is  it  possible 

A  cur  can  lend  three  thousand  ducats  ?  '     Or 

Shall  I  bend  low  and  in  a  bondman's  key, 

With  bated  breath  and  whispering  humbleness, 

Say  this ; 

'  Fair  sir,  you  spit  on  me  on  Wednesday  last ; 

You  spurn'd  me  such  a  day ;  another  time 

You  call'd  me  dog ;  and  for  these  courtesies 

I  '11  lend  you  thus  much  moneys?  ' 


ACT  II. 

GRAVITY   ASSUMED. 

Signior  Bassanio,  hear  me  : 
If  I  do  not  put  on  a  sober  habit. 
Talk  with  respect  and  swear  but  now  and  then. 
Wear  prayer-books  in  my  pocket,  look  demurely, 
Nay  more,  while  grace  is  saying,  hood  mine  eyes 
Thus  with  my  hat,  and  sigh  and  say  *  amen,' 
Use  all  the  observance  of  civility. 
Like  one  well  studied  in  a  sad  ostent  * 
To  please  his  grandam,  never  trust  me  more. 

THE   JEW'S    COMMANDS    TO    HIS   DAUGHTER. 

Lock  up  my  doors ;  and  when  you  hear  the  drum 
And  the  vile  squeaking  of  the  wry-neck'd  fife, 

1  Show  of  staid  and  serious  demeanour. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice.  55 

Clamber  not  you  up  to  the  casements  then. 
Nor  thrust  your  head  into  the  public  street 
To  gaze  on  Christian  fools  with  varnished  faces, 
But  stop  my  house's  ears,  I  mean  my  casements : 
Let  not  the  sound  of  shallow  foppery  enter 
My  sober  house. 


POSSESSION   MORE    LANGUID    THAN    EXPECTATION. 

Salarino.  O,  ten  times  faster  Venus'  pigeons  fly 
To  seal  love's  bonds  new  made,  than  they  are  wont 
To  keep  obliged  faith  unforfeited ! 

Gratiano.     That  ever  holds :    who  riseth  from  a 
feast 
With  that  keen  appetite  that  he  sits  down? 
Where  is  the  horse  that  doth  untread  again 
His  tedious  measures  with  the  unbated  fire 
That  he  did  pace  them  first  ?    All  things  that  are, 
Are  with  more  spirit  chased  than  enjoy'd. 
How  like  a  younker  or  a  prodigal 
The  scarfed '  bark  puts  from  her  native  bay, 
Hugg'd  and  embraced  by  the  strumpet  wind  ! 
How  like  a  prodigal  doth  she  return, 
With  over-weather'd  ribs  and  ragged  sails, 
Lean,  rent,  and  beggar'd  by  the  strumpet  wind ! 

PORTIA'S    SUITORS. 

From  the  four  corners  of  the  earth  they  come, 
To  kiss  this  shrine,  this  mortal-breathing  saint : 

1  Decorated  with  flags. 


56  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

The  Hyrcanian  deserts  and  the  vasty  wilds 

Of  wide  Arabia  are  as  throughfares  now. 

For  princes  to  come  view  fair  Portia : 

The  watery  kingdom,  whose  ambitious  head 

Spits  in  the  face  of  heaven,  is  no  bar 

To  stop  the  foreign  spirits,  but  they  come, 

As  o'er  a  brook,  to  see  fair  Portia. 


THE   PARTING   OF   FRIENDS. 

I  saw  Bassanio  and  Antonio  part : 

Bassanio  told  him  he  would  make  some  speed 

Of  his  return  ;  he  answered,  '  Do  not  so  ; 

Slubber  *  not  business  for  my  sake,  Bassanio, 

But  stay  the  very  riping  of  the  time  ; 

And  for  the  Jew's  bond,  which  he  hath  of  me. 

Let  it  not  enter  in  your  mind  of  love : 

Be  merry,  and  employ  your  chiefest  thoughts 

To  courtship  and  such  fair  ostents  *  of  love 

As  shall  conveniently  become  you  there :  ' 

And  even  there,  his  eye  being  big  with  tears. 

Turning  his  face,  he  put  his  hand  behind  him. 

And  with  affection  wondrous  sensible 

He  wrung  Bassanio's  hand  ;  and  so  they  parted. 

HONOUR  TO  BE  CONFERRED  ON  MERIT  ONLY 

For  who  shall  go  about 
To  cozen  fortune  and  be  honourable 
Without  the  stamp  of  merit  ?     Let  none  presume 

1  To  slubber  is  to  do  a  thing  carelessly. 
«  Shows,  tokens. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice,  57 

To  wear  an  undeserved  dignity. 

O,  that  estates,  degrees  and  offices 

Were  not  derived  corruptly,  and  that  clear  honour 

Were  purchased  by  the  merit  of  the  wearer  ! 

How  many  then  should  cover  that  stand  bare  ! 

How  many  be  commanded  that  command  ! 

How  much  low  peasantry  would  then  be  glean'd 

From  the  true  seed  of  honour  !  and  how  much  honour 

Pick'd  from  the  chaff  and  ruin  of  the  times 

To  be  new-varnish'd ! 


LOVE   MESSENGER    COMPARED    TO    AN    APRIL    DAY. 

I  have  not  seen 
So  likely  an  ambassador  of  love  : 
A  day  in  April  never  came  so  sweet, 
To  show  how  costly  summer  was  at  hand, 
As  this  fore-spurrer  comes  before  his  lord. 


ACT  HI. 

THE   JEW'S    REVENGE. 

If  it  will  feed  nothing  else,  it  will  feed  my  revenge. 
He  hath  disgraced  me,  and  hindered  me  half  a  mill- 
ion;  laughed  at  my  losses,  mocked  at  my  gains, 
scorned  my  nation,  thwarted  my  bargains,  cooled  my 
friends,  heated  mine  enemies  ;  and  what 's  his  reason? 
I  am  a  Jew.  Hath  not  a  Jew  eyes?  hath  not  a 
Jew  hands,  organs,  dimensions,  senses,  affections, 
passions?    fed   with    the   same  food,  hurt  with  the 


58  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

same  weapons,  subject  to  the  same  diseases,  healed 
by  the  same  means,  warmed  and  cooled  by  the  same 
winter  and  summer,  as  a  Christian  is?  If  you  prick 
us,  do  we  not  bleed?  if  you  tickle  us,  do  we  not 
laugh?  if  you  poison  us,  do  we  not  die?  and  if  you 
wrong  us,  shall  we  not  revenge?  If  we  are  like  you 
in  the  rest,  we  will  resemble  you  in  that.  If  a  Jew 
wrong  a  Christian,  what  is  his  humility?  Revenge. 
If  a  Christian  wrong  a  Jew,  what  should  his  suffer- 
ance be  by  Christian  example?  Why,  revenge.  The 
villany  you  teach  me,  I  will  execute,  and  it  shall  go 
hard  but  I  will  better  the  instruction. 


MUSIC. 

Let  music  sound  while  he  doth  make  his  choice ; 

Then,  if  he  lose,  he  makes  a  swan-like  end. 

Fading  in  music :  that  the  comparison 

May  stand  more  proper,  my  eye  shall  be  the  stream 

And  watery  death-bed  for  him.     He  may  win ; 

And  what  is  music  then  ?     Then  music  is 

Even  as  the  flourish  when  true  subjects  bow 

To  a  new-crowned  monarch :  such  it  is 

As  are  those  dulcet  sounds  in  break  of  day 

That  creep  into  the  dreaming  bridegroom's  ear 

And  summon  him  to  marriage.     Now  he  goes, 

With  no  less  presence,^  but  with  much  more  love, 

Than  young  Alcides,  when  he  did  redeem 

The  virgin  tribute  paid  by  howling  Troy 

To  the  sea-monster :  I  stand  for  sacrifice  ; 

*  Dignity  of  mien. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice,  59 

The  rest  aloof  are  the  Dardanian  wives, 
With  bleared  visages,  come  forth  to  view 
The  issue  of  the  exploit. 


THE   DECEIT   OF   ORNAMENT   OR   APPEARANCES. 

The  world  is  still  deceived  with  ornament. 
In  law,  what  plea  so  tainted  and  corrupt, 
But,  being  seasoned  with  a  gracious  '  voice, 
Obscures  the  show  of  evil?     In  religion. 
What  damned  error,  but  some  sober  brow 
Will  bless  it  and  approve'  it  with  a  text. 
Hiding  the  grossiiess  with  fair  ornament? 
There  is  no  vice  so  simple  but  assumes 
Some  mark  of  virtue  on  his  outward  parts : 
How  many  cowards,  whose  hearts  are  all  as  false 
As  stairs  of  sand,  wear  yet  upon  their  chins 
The  beards  of  Hercules  and  frowning  Mars, 
Who,  inward  search'd,  have  livers  white  as  milk ; 
And  these  assume  but  valour's  excrement 
To  render  them  redoubted !     Look  on  beauty. 
And  you  shall  see  't  is  purcha^d  by  the  weight ; 
Which  therein  works  a  miracle  in  nature, 
Makmg  them  lightest  that  wear  most  of  it : 
So  are  those  crisped  *  snaky  golden  locks 
Which  make  such  wanton  gambols  with  the  wind. 
Upon  supposed  fairness,  often  known 
To  be  the  dowry  of  a  second  head. 
The  skull  that  bred  them  in  the  sepulchre. 
Thus  ornament  is  but  the  guiled  ^  shore 

1  Winning  favour.  *  Curled.  »  Treacherous. 


6o  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

To  a  most  dangerous  sea ;  the  beauteous  scart 
Veiling  an  Indian  beauty ;  in  a  word, 
The  seeming  truth  which  cunning  times  put  on 
To  entrap  the  wisest. 

PORTIA'S    PICTURE. 

Bassanio.     What  find  I  here  ? 

\Opening  the  leaden  casket. "^ 
Fair  Portia's  counterfeit !  *     What  demi-god 
Hath  come  so  near  creation  ?     Move  these  eyes  ? 
Or  whether,  riding  on  the  balls  of  mine. 
Seem  they  in  motion?     Here  are  sever'd  lips, 
Parted  with  sugar  breath :  so  sweet  a  bar 
Should  sunder  such  sweet  friends.     Here  in  her  hairs 
The  painter  plays  the  spider  and  hath  woven 
A  golden  mesh  to  entrap  the  hearts  of  men 
Faster  than  gnats  in  cobwebs  :  but  her  eyes, — 
How  could  he  see  to  do  them?  having  made  one, 
Methinks  it  should  have  power  to  steal  both  his 
And  leave  itself  unfurnish'd. 


SUCCESSFUL     LOVER     COMPARED    TO    A   CONQUEROR. 

Like  one  of  two  contending  in  a  prize, 
That  thinks  he  hath  done  well  in  people's  eyes, 
Hearing  applause  and  universal  shout. 
Giddy  in  spirit,  still  gazing  in  a  doubt 
Whether  those  peals  of  praise  be  his  or  no ; 
So,  thrice-fair  lady,  stand  I,  even  so. 

1  Likeness,  portrait. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice,  6i 


HIS    THOUGHTS   TO    THE    INARTICULATE     JOYS    OF    A 
CROWD. 

There  is  such  confusion  in  my  powers, 

As,  after  some  oration  fairly  spoke 

By  a  beloved  prince,  there  doth  appear 

Among  the  buzzing  pleased  multitude ; 

Where  every  something,  being  blent  ^  together. 

Turns  to  a  wild  of  nothing,  save  of  joy, 

Expressed  and  not  expressed. 

IMPLACABLE   REVENGE. 

Shy  lock.     I  '11  have  my  bond  ;   I  will  not  hear  thee 
speak : 
I  '11  have  my  bond ;  and  therefore  speak  no  more. 
I  '11  not  be  made  a  soft  and  dull-eyed  fool. 
To  shake  the  head,  relent,  and  sigh,  and  yield 
To  Christian  intercessors. 

THE    BOASTING   OF    YOUTH. 

I  '11  hold  thee  any  wager. 
When  we  are  both  accoutred  like  young  men, 
I  '11  prove  the  prettier  fellow  of  the  two. 
And  wear  my  dagger  with  the  braver  grace. 
And  speak  between  the  change  of  man  and  boy 
With  a  reed  voice,  and  turn  two  mincing  steps 
Into  a  manly  stride,  and  speak  of  frays 
Like  a  fine  bragging  youth,  and  tell  quaint  lies, 

i  Blended. 


62  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

How  honourable  ladies  sought  my  love. 

Which  I  denying,  they  fell  sick  and  died ; 

1  could  not  do  withal ;  then  I  '11  repent. 

And  wish,  for  all  that,  that  I  had  not  kill'd  them 

And  twenty  of  these  puny  lies  I  '11  tell, 

That  men  shall  swear  I  have  discontinued  school 

Above  a  twelvemonth. 


AFFECTATION   IN   WORDS. 

O  dear  discretion,  how  his  words  are  suited  ! 
The  fool  hath  planted  in  his  memory 
An  army  of  good  words ;  and  I  do  know 
A  many  fools,  that  stand  in  better  place, 
Garnish'd  like  him,  that  for  a  tricksy  word 
Defy  the  matter. 

ACT   IV. 

THE  JEW'S  REASON  FOR  REVENGE. 

You'll  ask  me,  why  I  rather  choose  to  have 
A  weight  of  carrion  flesh  than  to  receive 
Three  thousand  ducats  :  I  '11  not  answer  that : 
But,  say,  it  is  my  humour:^  is  it  answer'd? 
What  if  my  house  be  troubled  with  a  rat 
And  I  be  pleased  to  give  ten  thousand  ducats 
To  have  it  baned  ?     What,  are  you  answer'd  yet  ? 
Some  men  there  are  love  not  a  gaping  pig ; 
Some,  that  are  mad  if  they  behold  a  cat ; 

^  1  Particular  fancy. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice,  63 

And  others,  when  the  bagpipe  sings  i'  the  nose, 

Can  not  contain  their  urine  :  for  affection, ' 

Mistress  of  passion,  sways  it  to  the  mood 

Of  what  it  likes  or  loathes.     Now,  for  your  answer : 

As  there  is  no  firm  reason  to  be  rendered, 

Why  he  cannot  abide  a  gaping  ^  pig ; 

Why  he,  a  harmless  necessary  cat ; 

Why  he,  a  wollen  bagpipe ;  but  of  force 

Must  yield  to  such  inevitable  shame 

As  to  offend,  himself  being  offended  ; 

So  can  I  give  no  reason,  nor  I  will  not. 

More  than  a  lodged  hate  and  a  certain  loathing 

I  bear  Antonio,  that  I  follow  thus 

A  losing  suit  against  him.     Are  you  answer'd? 

MERCY. 

The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain'd. 

It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 

Upon  the  place  beneath  :  it  is  twice  blest ; 

It  blesseth  him  that  gives  and  him  that  takes : 

'T  is  mightiest  in  the  mightiest :  it  becomes 

The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown ; 

His  sceptre  shows  the  force  of  temporal  power. 

The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty. 

Wherein  doth  sit  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings  ; 

But  mercy  is  above  this  scepter'd  sway ; 

It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings^ 

It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself; 

And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's, 

When  mercy  seasons  justice. 

»  Prejudice.  »  Squealing. 


64  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

FORTUNE. 

For  herein  Fortune  shows  herself  more  kind 
Than  is  her  custom  :  it  is  still  her  use 
To  let  the  wretched  man  outlive  his  wealth, 
To  view  with  hollow  eye  and  wrinkled  brow 
An  ag^  of  poverty. 

ACT   V. 

MOONLIGHT. 

How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank ! 
Here  will  we  sit  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears :  soft  stillness  and  the  night 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony. 
Sit,  Jessica.     Look  how  the  floor  of  heaven 
Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  '  of  bright  gold  : 
There's  not  the  smallest  orb,  which  thou  behold'st 
But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings, 
Still  quiring  to  the  young-eyed  cherubins ; 
Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls ; 
But  whilst  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 
Doth  grossly  close  it  in,  we  can  not  hear  it. 

MUSIC. 

Jessica.   I  am  never  merry  when  I  hear  sweet  music. 
Lorenzo.    The  reason  is,  your  spirits  are  attentive : 
For  do  but  note  a  wild  and  wanton  herd, 

1  A  small  flat  dish,  used  in  the  administration  of  the  Eucharist. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice,  65 

Or  race  of  youthful  and  unhandled  colts, 

Fetching  mad  bounds,  bellowing  and  neighing  loud, 

Which  is  the  hot  condition  of  their  blood  ; 

If  they  but  hear  perchance  a  trumpet  sound. 

Or  any  air  of  music  touch  their  ears. 

You  shall  perceive  them  make  a  mutual  stand, 

Their  savage  eyes  turn'd  to  a  modest  gaze 

By  the  sweet  power  of  music.     Therefore  the  poet 

Did    feign    that    Orpheus   drew   trees,    stones   and 

floods ; 
Since  nought  so  stockish,  hard  and  full  of  rage. 
But  music  for  the  time  doth  change  his  nature. 
The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself, 
Nor  is  not  moved  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 
Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems  and  spoils ; 
The  motions  of  his  spirit  are  dull  as  night, 
And  his  affections  dark  as  Erebus : 
Let  no  such  man  be  trusted. 


A    GOOD    DEED    COMPARED. 

How  far  that  little  candle  throws  his  beams  ! 
So  shines  a  good  deed  in  a  naughty  world. 

NOTHING  GOOD  OUT  OF  SEASON. 

The  crow  doth  sing  as  sweetly  as  the  lark 
When  neither  is  attended,  and  I  think 
The  nightingale,  if  she  should  sing  by  day. 
When  every  goose  is  cackling,  would  be  thought 
No  better  a  musician  than  the  wren. 


66  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

How  many  things  by  season  seasoned  are 
To  their  right  praise  and  true  perfection  !  — 
Peace,  ho  !     The  moon  sleeps  with  Endymion, 
And  would  not  be  awaked  ! 


MOONLIGHT   NIGHT. 

This  night,  methinks,  is  but  the  daylight  sick;' 
It  looks  a  little  paler :   't  is  a  day, 
Such  as  the  day  is  when  the  sun  is  hid. 


A    MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S    DREAM. 

ACT   I. 

A  father's  authority. 

To  you  your  father  should  be  as  a  god ; 

One  that  composed  your  beauties,  yea,  and  one 

To  whom  you  are  but  as  a  form  in  wax 

By  him  imprinted  and  within  his  power 

To  leave  the  figure  or  disfigure  it. 


A   RECLUSE   LIFE. 

Therefore,  fair  Hermia,  question  your  desires ; 
Know  of  your  youth,  examine  well  your  blood, 
Whether,  if  you  yield  not  to  your  father's  choice, 
You  can  endure  the  livery  of  a  nun, 
For  aye  '  to  be  in  shady  cloister  mew'd, 
To  live  a  barren  sister  all  your  life. 
Chanting  faint  hymns  to  the  cold  fruitless  moon. 
Thrice-blessed  they  that  master  so  their  blood, 
To  undergo  such  maiden  pilgrimage  ; 
But  earthlier  happy  is  the  rose  distill'd, 
Than  that  which  withering  on  the  virgin  thorn 
Grows,  lives  and  dies  in  single  blessedness. 

1  Ever. 


68  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 


TRUE   LOVE   EVER   CROSSED. 

For  aught  that  I  could  ever  read, 
Could  ever  hear  by  tale  or  history, 
The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth ; 
But,  either  it  was  different  in  blood, 
Or  else  misgraffed  in  respect  of  years ; 
Or  else  it  stood  upon  the  choice  of  friends : 
Or,  if  there  were  a  sympathy  in  choice. 
War,  death,  or  sickness  did  lay  siege  to  it ; 
Making  it  momentany  ^  as  a  sound. 
Swift  as  a  shadow,  short  as  any  dream  ; 
Brief  as  the  lightning  in  the  collied  ^  night, 
That,  in  a  spleen,  unfolds  both  heaven  and  earth. 
And  ere  a  man  hath  power  to  say  '  Behold ! ' 
The  jaws  of  darkness  do  devour  it  up  : 
So  quick  bright  things  come  to  confusion. 

ASSIGNATION. 

I  swear  to  thee,  by  Cupid's  strongest  bow, 

By  his  best  arrow  with  the  golden  head. 

By  the  simplicity  of  Venus'  doves. 

By  that  which  knitteth  souls  and  prospers  loves. 

And  by  that  fire  which  burn'd  the  Carthage  queen, 

When  the  false  Troyan  under  sail  was  seen, 

By  all  the  vows  that  ever  men  have  broke, 

In  number  more  than  ever  women  spoke 

In  that  same  place  thou  hast  appointed  me, 

To-morrow  truly  will  I  meet  with  thee. 

1  Momentary.  '  Black. 


A  Midsummer-night's  Dream.         69 

THE   MOON. 

When  Phoebe  doth  behold 
Her  silver  visage  in  the  watery  glass, 
Decking  with  liquid  pearl  the  bladed  grass. 

LOVE. 

Things  base  and  vile,  holding  no  quantity, 

Love  can  transpose  to  form  and  dignity : 

Love  looks  not  with  the  eyes,  but  with  the  mind ; 

And  therefore  is  wing'd  Cupid  painted  blind : 

Nor  hath  Love's  mind  of  any  judgement  taste  ; 

Wings  and  no  eyes  figure  unheedy  haste : 

And  therefore  is  Love  said  to  be  a  child. 

Because  in  choice  he  is  so  oft  beguiled. 

As  waggish  boys  in  game  ^  themselves  forswear, 

So  the  boy  Love  is  perjured  every  where. 

ACT    n. 

PUCK. 

I  am  that  merry  wanderer  of  the  night. 

I  jest  to  Oberon  and  make  him  smile 

When  I  a  fat  and  bean-fed  horse  beguile, 

Neighing  in  likeness  of  a  filly  foal : 

And  sometime  lurk  I  in  a  gossip's  bowl, 

In  very  likeness  of  a  roasted  crab,'"* 

And  when  she  drinks,  against  her  lips  I  bob 

1  Sport.  2  Wild  apple. 


70  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

And  on  her  withered  dewlap  pour  the  ale. 
The  wisest  aunt,  telling  the  saddest  tale, 
Sometime  for  three-foot  stool  mistaketh  me ; 
Then  slip  I  from  her  bum,  down  topples  she, 
And  '  tailor '  cries,  and  falls  into  a  cough ; 
And  then  the  whole  quire  hold  their  hips  and  lau^ 
And  waxen  in  their  mirth  and  neeze  and  swear 
A  merrier  hour  was  never  wasted  there. 


FAIRY   JEALOUSY   AND    THE    EFFECTS   OF   IT. 

These  are  the  forgeries  of  jealousy : 

And  never,  since  the  middle  summer's  spring, 

Met  we  on  hill,  in  dale,  forest  or  mead, 

By  paved  fountain  or  by  rushy  brook, 

Or  on  the  beached  margent  of  the  sea. 

To  dance  our  ringlets  to  the  whistling  wind. 

But  with  thy  brawls  thou  hast  disturb'd  our  sport. 

Therefore  the  winds,  piping  to  us  in  vain, 

As  in  revenge,  have  suck'd  up  from  the  sea 

Contagious  fogs ;  which  falling  in  the  land, 

Have  every  pelting  '  river  made  so  proud. 

That  they  have  overborne  their  continents  :  ^ 

The  ox  hath  therefore  stretched  his  yoke  in  vain, 

The  ploughman  lost  his  sweat,  and  the  green  corn 

Hath  rotted  ere  his  youth  attained  a  beard ; 

The  fold  stands  empty  in  the  drowned  field. 

And  crows  are  fatted  with  the  murrion  flock ; 

The  nine  men's  morris  ^  is  fill'd  up  with  mud, 

1  Petty.  «  Banks  which  contain  thein. 

9  A  game  pJayed  by  boys. 


A  Midsummer-night's  Dream,         71 

And  the  quaint  mazes  in  the  wanton  green, 

For  lack  of  tread  are  undistinguishable  : 

The  human  mortals  want  their  winter  here ; 

No  night  is  now  with  hymn  or  carol  blest : 

Therefore  the  moon,  the  governess  of  floods. 

Pale  in  her  anger,  washes  all  the  air. 

That  rheumatic  diseases  do  abound : 

And  thorough  this  distemperature  we  see 

The  seasons  alter :  hoary-headed  frosts 

Fall  in  the  fresh  lap  of  the  crimson  rose, 

And  on  old  Hiems'  thin  and  icy  crown 

An  odorous  chaplet  of  sweet  summer  buds 

Is,  as  in  mockery,  set :  the  spring,  the  summer, 

The  childing  ^  autumn,  angry  winter,  change 

Their  wonted  liveries,  and  the  mazed  world, 

By  their  increase, '^  now  knows  not  which  is  which. 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

Thou  rememberest 
Since  once  I  sat  upon  a  promontory. 
And  heard  a  mermaid  on  a  dolphin's  back 
Uttering  such  dulcet  and  harmonious  breath* 
That  the  rude  sea  grew  civil  at  her  song 
And  certain  stars  shot  madly  from  their  spheres, 
To  hear  the  sea-maid's  music. 
That  very  time  I  saw,  but  thou  couldst  not. 
Flying  between  the  cold  moon  and  the  earth, 
Cupid  all  arm'd :  a  certain  aim  he  took 

1  Autumn  producing  flowers  unseasonably. 
3  Produce. 


72  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

At  a  fair  vestal,  throned  by  the  west ; 

And  loosed  his  love-shaft  smartly  from  his  bow, 

As  it  should  pierce  a  hundred  thousand  hearts ; 

But  I  might  see  young  Cupid's  fiery  shaft 

Quench'd  in  the  chaste  beams  of  the  watery  moon, 

And  the  imperial  votaress  passed  on, 

In  maiden  meditation,  fancy-free.^ 

Yet  mark'd  I  where  the  bolt  of  Cupid  fell : 

It  fell  upon  a  little  western  flower,  — 

Before  milk-white  ;  now  purple  with  love's  wound. 

And  maidens  call  it  love-in-idleness. 


A   FAIRY    BANK. 

I  know  a  bank  where  the  wild  thyme  blows. 
Where  oxlips^  and  the  nodding  violet  grows. 
Quite  over-canopied  with  luscious  ^  woodbine, 
With  sweet  musk-roses  and  with  eglantine : 
There  sleeps  Titania  sometime  of  the  night, 
Luird  in  these  flowers  with  dances  and  delight. 


ACT   III. 

FAIRY   COURTESIES. 

Be  kind  and  courteous  to  this  gentleman ; 
Hop  in  his  walks  and  gambol  in  his  eyes ; 
Feed  him  with  apricocks  and  dewberries,'' 
With  purple  grapes,  green  figs,  and  mulberries ; 

»  Exempt  from  love.  «  The  greater  cowslip. 

*  Vigorous.  *  Gooseberries. 


A  Midsummer-night 's  Dream.  js 

The  honey-bags  steal  from  the  humble-bees, 
And,  for  night-tapers  crop  their  waxen  thighs 
And  light  them  at  the  fiery  glow-worm's  eyes, 
To  have  my  love  to  bed  and  to  arise ; 
And  pluck  the  wings  from  painted  butterflies 
To  fan  the  moon-beams  from  his  sleeping  eyes : 
Nod  to  him,  elves,  and  do  him  courtesies. 


FEMALE   FRIENDSHIP. 

Is  all  the  counsel  that  we  two  have  shared. 

The  sisters'  vows,  the  hours  that  we  have  spent, 

When  we  have  chid  the  hasty-footed  time 

For  parting  us,  —  O,  is  it  all  forgot? 

All  school-days'  friendship,  childhood  innocence? 

We,  Hermia,  like  two  artificial  ^  gods. 

Have  with  our  needles  created  both  one  flower. 

Both  on  one  sampler,  sitting  on  one  cushion. 

Both  warbling  of  one  song,  both  in  one  key ; 

As  if  our  hands,  our  sides,  voices  and  minds. 

Had  been  incorporate.     So  we  grew  together, 

Like  to  a  double  cherry,  seeming  parted. 

But  yet  a  union  in  partition  ; 

Two  lovely  berries  moulded  on  one  stem ; 

So,  with  two  seeming  bodies,  but  one  heart ; 

Two  of  the  first,  like  coats  in  heraldry, 

Due  but  to  one  and  crowned  with  one  crest. 

And  will  you  rent  our  ancient  love  asunder. 

To  join  with  men  in  scorning  your  poor  friend? 

It  is  not  friendly,  't  is  not  maidenly : 

1  Ingenious. 


74  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Our  sex,  as  well  as  I,  may  chide  you  for  it, 
Though  I  alone  do  feel  the  injury. 


DAYBREAK. 

Night's  swift  dragons  cut  the  clouds  full  fast, 

And  yonder  shines  Aurora's  harbinger ; 

At   whose   approach,    ghosts,  wandering   here    and 

there. 
Troop  home  to  churchyards. 


ACT    IV. 

DEW   IN   FLOWERS. 

And  that  same  dew,  which  sometime  on  the  buds 
Was  wont  to  swell  like  round  and  orient  pearls. 
Stood  now  within  the  pretty  flowerets'  eyes 
Like  tears  that  did  their  own  disgrace  bewail. 

HUNTING. 

Theseus.   We  will,  fair  queen,  up  to  the  mountain's 
top 
And  mark  the  musical  confusion 
Of  hounds  and  echo  in  conjunction. 

Hippolyta.    I  was  with  Hercules  and  Cadmus  once. 
When  in  the  wood  of  Crete  they  bay'd  the  bear 
With  hounds  of  Sparta :  never  did  I  hear 
Such  gallant  chiding;  '  for,  besides  the  groves, 
The  skies,  the  fountains,  every  region  near 

1  Sound. 


A  Midsummer-night' s  Dream,         75 

Seem'd  all  one  mutual  cry :   I  never  heard 
So  musical  a  discord,  such  sweet  thunder. 


HOUNDS. 

My  hounds  are  bred  out  of  the  Spartan  kind, 
So  flew'd,'  so  sanded,  and  their  heads  are  hung 
With  ears  that  sweep  away  the  morning  dew ; 
Crook-kneed,  and  dew-lapp'd  like  Thessalian  bulls; 
Slow  in  pursuit,  but  match'd  in  mouth  like  bells, 
Each  under  each.     A  cry  more  tuneable 
Was  never  hoUa'd  to,  nor  cheer'd  with  horn. 


ACT   V. 

THE   POWER    OF    IMAGINATION. 

The  lunatic,  the  lover  and  the  poet. 

Ate  of  imagination  all  compact  :^ 

One  sees  more  devils  than  vast  hell  can  hold, 

That  is,  the  madman :  the  lover,  all  as  frantic, 

Sees  Helen's  beauty  in  a  brow  of  Egypt : 

The  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling. 

Doth    glance  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to 

heaven  ; 
And,  as  imagination  bodies  forth 
The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 
Turns  them  to  shapes  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name. 

J  The  flews  are  the  large  chaps  of  a  hound. 
2  Are  made  of  mere  imagination. 


76  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

SIMPLICITY   AND     DUTY. 

Theseus.   For  never  anything  can  be  amiss, 
When  simpleness  and  duty  tender  it. 

Hippolyta.    I  love  not  to  see  wretchedness  over- 
charged 
And  duty  in  his  service  perishing. 

MODEST    DUTY    ALWAYS    ACCEPTABLE. 

Where  I  have  come,  great  clerks  have  purposed 
To  greet  me  with  premeditated  welcomes ; 
Where  I  have  seen  them  shiver  and  look  pale, 
Make  periods  in  the  midst  of  sentences, 
Throttle  their  practised  accent  in  their  fears 
And,  in  conclusion  dumbly  have  broke  off. 
Not  paying  me  a  welcome.     Trust  me,  sweet, 
Out  of  this  silence,  yet  I  pick'd  a  welcome ; 
And  in  the  modesty  of  fearful  duty 
I  read  as  much  as  from  the  rattling  tongue 
Of  saucy  and  audacious  eloquence. 

TIME. 

The  iron  tongue  of  midnight  hath  told  twelve. 

NIGHT. 

Now  the  hungry  lion  roars, 

And  the  wolf  behowls  the  moon ; 

Whilst  the  heavy  ploughman  snores. 
All  with  weary  task  fordone. > 

1  Overcome. 


A  Midsummer-night's  Dream,  77 

Now  the  wasted  brands  do  glow, 

Whilst  the  screech-owl,  screeching  loud, 
Puts  the  wretch  that  lies  in  woe 

In  remembrance  of  a  shroud. 
Now,  it  is  the  time  of  night 

That  the  graves  all  gaping  wide, 
Every  one  lets  forth  his  sprite. 

In  the  church-way  paths  to  glide. 


MUCH    ADO    ABOUT    NOTHING. 
ACT  I. 

PEACE     INSPIRES    LOVE. 

Claudia.     O,  my  lord, 
When  you  went  onward  on  this  ended  action, 
I  look'd  upon  her  with  a  soldier's  eye, 
That  liked,  but  had  a  rougher  task  in  hand 
Than  to  drive  liking  to  the  name  of  love : 
But  now  I  am  return'd  and  that  war-thoughts 
Have  left  their  places  vacant,  in  their  rooms 
Come  thronging  soft  and  delicate  desires, 
All  prompting  me  how  fair  young  Hero  is, 
Saying,  I  liked  her  ere  I  went  to  wars. 

D.  Pedro.     Thou  wilt  be  like  a  lover  presently 
And  tire  the  hearer  with  a  book  of  words. 
If  thou  dost  love  fair  Hero,  cherish  it, 
And  I  will  break  with  her  and  with  her  father 
And  tnou  shall  have  her.     Was  't  not  to  this  end 
That  thou  began'st  to  twist  so  fine  a  story? 

Claud.     How  sweetly  you  do  minister  to  love, 
That  know  love's  grief  by  his  complexion  ! 
But  lest  my  liking  might  too  sudden  seem, 
I  would  have  salved  it  with  a  longer  treatise. 

D.  Pedro.     What  need  the  bridge   much  broader 
than  the  flood  ? 


Mitch  Ado  About  Nothing.  79 

The  fairest  grant  is  the  necessity. 

Look,  what  will  serve  is  fit:  'tis  once,^  thou  lovest ; 

And  I  will  fit  thee  with  the  remedy. 

I  know  we  shall  have  revelling  to-night : 

1  will  assume  thy  part  in  some  disguise 

And  tell  fair  Hero  I  am  Claudio, 

And  in  her  bosom  I  '11  unclasp  my  heart. 


ACT    II. 

FRIENDSHIP    IN    LOVE. 

Friendship  is  constant  in  all  other  things 

Save  in  the  office  and  affairs  of  love : 

Therefore,  all  hearts  in  love  use  their  own  tongues 

Let  every  eye  negotiate  for  itself 

And  trust  no  agent ;  for  beauty  is  a  witch, 

Against  whose  charms  faith  melteth  into  blood.' 


MERIT   ALWAYS   MODEST. 

It  is  the  witness  still  of  excellency 

To  put  a  strange  face  on  his  own  perfection. 


BENEDICK  THE  BACHELOR'S  RECANTATION. 

This  can  be  no  trick:  the  conference  was  sadly 
borne. ^  They  have  the  truth  of  this  from  Hero. 
They  seem  to  pity  the  lady ;  it  seems  her  affections 

1  Once  for  all.  '  Passion. 

»  Seriously  carried  on. 


8o  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

have  their  full  bent.  Love  me  !  why,  it  must  be 
requited.  I  hear  how  I  am  censured :  they  say  I 
will  bear  myself  proudly,  if  I  perceive  the  love  come 
from  her ;  they  say  too  that  she  will  rather  die  than 
give  any  sign  of  affection.  I  did  never  think  to 
marry  :  I  must  not  seem  proud :  happy  are  they  that 
hear  their  detractions  and  can  put  them  to  mending. 
They  say  the  lady  is  fair ;  't  is  a  truth,  I  can  bear 
them  witness ;  and  virtuous ;  't  is  so,  I  can  not  re- 
prove it ;  and  wise,  but  for  loving  me  ;  by  my  troth, 
it  is  no  addition  to  her  wit ;  nor  no  great  argument 
of  her  folly,  for  I  will  be  horribly  in  love  with  her. 
I  may  chance  have  some  odd  quirks  and  remnants  of 
wit  broken  on  me,  because  I  have  railed  so  long 
against  marriage:  but  doth  not  the  appetite  alter? 
a  man  loves  the  meat  in  his  youth  that  he  can  not 
endure  in  his  age.  Shall  quips  and  sentences  and 
these  paper  bullets  of  the  brain  awe  a  man  from  the 
career  of  his  humour?  No.  The  world  must  be 
peopled.  When  I  said  I  would  die  a  bachelor,  I 
did  not  think  I  should  live  till  I  were  married.  Here 
comes  Beatrice.  By  this  day!  she's  a  fair  lady:  1 
do  spy  some  marks  of  love  in  her. 


ACT  III. 

FAVOURITES   COMPARED   TO    HONEYSUCKLES. 

—  Bid  her  steal  into  the  pleached  bower, 
Where  honeysuckles,  ripen'd  by  the  sun, 
like  favourites, 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing.  8i 

Made  proud  by  princes,  that  advance  their  pride 
Against  that  power  that  bred  it. 


A   SCORNFUL   AND    SATIRICAL   BEAUTY. 

Hero.     Now,  Ursula,  when  Beatrice  doth  come. 
As  we  do  trace  this  alley  up  and  down, 
Our  talk  must  only  be  of  Benedick. 
When  I  do  name  him,  let  it  be  thy  part 
To  praise  him  more  than  ever  man  did  merit : 
My  talk  to  thee  must  be  how  Benedick 
Is  sick  in  love  with  Beatrice.     Of  this  matter 
Is  little  Cupid's  crafty  arrow  made. 
That  only  wounds  by  hearsay. 

Enter  Beatrice,  behind. 

Now  begin ; 
For  look  where  Beatrice,  like  a  lapwing,  runs 
Close  by  the  ground,  to  hear  our  conference. 

Ursula.    The    pleasanfst    angling   is    to    see   the 
fish 
Cut  with  her  golden  oars  the  silver  stream, 
And  greedily  devour  the  treacherous  bait : 
So  angle  we  for  Beatrice ;  who  even  now 
Is  couched  in  the  woodbine  coverture. 
Fear  you  not  my  part  of  the  dialogue. 

Hero.    Then  go  we  near  her,  that  her  ear  lose 
nothing 
Of  the  false  sweet  bait  that  we  lay  for  it.  — 

[^Approaching  the  bower. 
No,  truly,  Ursula,  she  is  too  disdainful ; 


82  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

I  know  her  spirits  are  as  coy  and  wild 
As  haggerds  of  the  rock. 

(Jrs.  But  are  you  sure 

That  Benedick  loves  Beatrice  so  entirely? 

Hero.     So  says  the  prince  and    my   new-trothed 
lord. 

Urs.    And  did  they  bid  you  tell  her  of  it,  madam? 

Hero.    They  did  entreat  me  to  acquaint  her  of  it ; 
But  I  persuaded  them,  if  they  loved  Benedick, 
To  wish  him  wrestle  with  affection, 
And  never  to  let  Beatrice  know  of  it. 

Urs.    Why  did  you  so  ?     Doth  not  the  gentleman 
Deserve  as  full  as  fortunate  a  bed 
As  ever  Beatrice  shall  couch  upon? 

Hero.     O  god  of  love  !  I  know  he  doth  deserve 
As  much  as  may  be  yielded  to  a  man : 
But  Nature  never  framed  a  woman's  heart 
Of  prouder  stuff  than  that  of  Beatrice  ; 
Disdain  and  scorn  ride  sparkling  in  her  eyes. 
Misprising  what  they  look  on,  and  her  wit 
Values  itself  so  highly  that  to  her 
All  matter  else  seems  weak  :    she  cannot  love, 
Nor  take  no  shape  nor  project  of  affection, 
She  is  so  self-endeared. 

Urs.  Sure,  I  think  so ; 

And  therefore  certainly  it  were  not  good 
She  knew  his  love,  lest  she  make  sport  at  it. 

Hero.  Why,  you  speak  truth.     I  never  yet  saw  a 
man. 
How  wise,  how  noble,  young,  how  rarely  featured, 
But  she  would  spell  him  backward :  if  fair-faced, 


Mmh  Ado  About  Nothing,  83 

She  would  swear  the  gentleman  should  be  her  sister ; 

If  black,  why,  Nature,  drawing  of  an  antique,' 

Made  a  foul  blot ;  if  tall,  a  lance  ill-headed  ; 

If  low,  an  agate  very  vilely  cut ; 

If  speaking,  why,  a  vane  blown  with  all  winds ; 

If  silent,  why,  a  block  moved  with  none. 

So  turns  she  every  man  the  wrong  side  out 

And  never  gives  to  truth  and  virtue  that 

Which  simpleness  and  merit  purchaseth. 


ACT  IV. 

DISSIMULATION. 

O,  what  authority  and  show  of  truth 

Can  cunning  sin  cover  itself  withal ! 

Comes  not  that  blood  as  modest  evidence 

To  witness  simple  virtue  ?     Would  you  not  swear, 

All  you  that  see  her,  that  she  were  a  maid, 

By  these  exterior  shows  ?     But  she  is  none  : 

She  knows  the  heat  of  a  luxurious  2  bed : 

Her  blush  is  guiltiness,  not  modesty. 

A   FATHER    LAMENTING    HIS   DAUGHTER'S    INFAMY. 

Grieved  I,  I  had  but  one? 
Chid  I  for  that  at  frugal  nature's  frame  ?  ^ 
O,  one  too  much  by  thee  !     Why  had  I  one? 
Why  ever  wast  thou  lovely  in  my  eyes  ? 

1  Fantastic  figure,  buffoon.  2  Lascivious. 

8  Disposition  of  things. 


84  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Why  had  I  not,  with  charitable  hand, 

Took  up  a  beggar's  issue  at  my  gates ; 

Who  smirched  *  thus,  and  mired  with  infamy, 

I  might  have  said  '  No  part  of  it  is  mine ; 

This  shame  derives  itself  from  unknown  loins '  ? 

But  mine  and  mine  I  loved  and  mine  I  praised 

And  mine  that  I  was  proud  on ;  mine  so  much, 

That  I  myself  was  to  myself  not  mine. 

Valuing  of  her,  —  why,  she,  O,  she  is  fallen 

Into  a  pit  of  ink,  that  the  wide  sea 

Hath  drops  too  few  to  wash  her  clean  again. 

INNOCENCE   DISCOVERED   BY   THE   COUNTENANCE. 

I  have  mark'd 
A  thousand  blushing  apparitions  start 
Into  her  face,  a  thousand  innocent  shames 
In  angel  whiteness  beat  away  those  blushes; 
And  in  her  eye  there  hath  appeared  a  fire, 
To  burn  the  errors  that  these  princes  hold 
Against  her  maiden  truth. 

RESOLUTION. 

I  know  not.     If  they  speak  but  truth  of  her, 
These  hands  shall  tear  her ;  if  they  wrong  her  hon- 
our, 
The  proudest  of  them  shall  well  hear  of  it. 
Time  hath  not  yet  so  dried  this  blood  of  mine, 
Nor  age  so  eat  up  my  invention, 

»  Sullied. 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing-,  85 

Nor  fortune  made  such  havoc  of  my  means, 
Nor  my  bad  life  reft  me  so  much  of  friends, 
But  they  shall  find,  awaked  in  such  a  kind. 
Both  strength  of  limb  and  policy  of  mind. 
Ability  in  means  and  choice  of  friends. 
To  quit  me  of  them  throughly. 


THE   DESIRE   OF    BELOVED   OBJECTS   HEIGHTENED  BY 
THEIR    LOSS. 

For  it  so  falls  out 
That  what  we  have  we  prize  not  to  the  worth 
Whiles  *  we  enjoy  it,  but  being  lack'd  and  lost, 
Why,  then  we  rack'^  the  value,  then  we  find 
The  virtue  that  possession  would  not  show  us 
Whiles  it  was  ours.     So  will  it  fare  with  Claudio : 
When  we  shall  hear  she  died  upon  ^  his  words. 
The  idea  of  her  life  shall  sweetly  creep 
Into  his  study  of  imagination. 
And  every  lovely  organ  of  her  lite 
Shall  come  apparelPd  in  more  precious  habit. 
More  moving-delicate  and  full  of  life. 
Into  the  eye  and  prospect  of  his  soul. 
Than  when  she  lived  indeed. 


TALKING   BRAGGARTS. 

But  manhood  is  melted  into  courtesies,*  valour  into 
compliment,  and  men  are  only  turned  into  tongue, 

1  While.  «  Overrate. 

*  By.  *  Ceremony. 


86  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

and  trim  ones  too :  he  is  now  as  valiant  as  Hercules 
that  only  tells  a  lie  and  swears  it. 


ACT   V. 

COUNSEL   OF    NO   WEIGHT   IN   MISERY. 

I  pray  thee,  cease  thy  counsel, 
Which  falls  into  mine  ears  as  profitless 
As  water  in  a  sieve  :  give  not  me  counsel ; 
Nor  let  no  comforter  delight  mine  ear 
But  such  a  one  whose  wrongs  do  suit  with  mine. 
Bring  me  a  father  that  so  loved  his  child, 
Whose  joy  of  her  is  overwhelmed  like  mine, 
And  bid  him  speak  of  patience  ; 
Measure  his  woe  the  length  and  breadth  of  mine 
And  let  it  answer  every  strain  for  strain. 
As  thus  for  thus  and  such  a  grief  for  such. 
In  every  lineament,  branch,  shape,  and  form : 
If  such  a  one  will  smile  and  stroke  his  beard. 
Bid  sorrow  wag,  cry  '  hem,'  when  he  should  groan, 
Patch  grief  with  proverbs,  make  misfortune  drunk 
With  candle-wasters ;  bring  him  yet  to  me. 
And  I  of  him  will  gather  patience. 
But  there  is  no  such  man ;  for,  brother,  men 
Can  counsel  and  speak  comfort  to  that  grief 
Which  they  themselves  not  feel ;  but,  tasting  it, 
Their  counsel  turns  to  passion,  which  before 
Would  give  preceptial  medicine  to  rage. 
Fetter  strong  madness  in  a  silken  thread, 


Mtich  Ado  About  Nothing.  87 

Charm  ache  with  air  and  agony  with  words : 

No,  no ;  't  is  all  men's  office  to  speak  patience 

To  those  that  wring  under  the  load  of  sorrow, 

But  no  man's  virtue  nor  sufficiency 

To  be  so  moral  when  he  shall  endure 

The  like  himself.     Therefore  give  me  no  counsel : 

My  griefs  cry  louder  than  advertisement. 

SATIRE   ON    THE    STOIC    PHILOSOPHERS. 

I  pray  thee,  peace.     I  will  be  flesh  and  blood ; 
For  there  was  never  yet  philosopher 
That  could  endure  the  toothache  patiently, 
However  they  have  writ  the  style  of  gods 
And  made  a  push  at  chance  and  sufferance. 

TALKING   BRAGGARTS. 

Hold  you  content.     What,  man !    I  know  them,  yea, 
And  what  they  weigh,  even  to  the  utmost  scruple,  — 
Scambling,^  out-facing,  fashion-monging  ^  boys, 
That  lie  and  cog  ^  and  flout,  deprave  and  slander. 
Go  anticly,  show  outward  hideousness. 
And  speak  off  half  a  dozen  dangerous  words, 
How  they  might  hurt  their  enemies,  if  they  durst ; 
And  this  is  all. 

VILLAIN    TO    BE   NOTED. 

Which  is  the  villain?  let  me  see  his  eyes. 
That,  when  I  note  another  man  like  him, 
I  may  avoid  him. 

1  Turbulent.  «  Foppish.  s  Cheat. 


88  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


DAYBREAK. 


The  wolves  have  prey'd ;  and  look,  the  gentle  day, 
Before  the  wheels  of  Phoebus,  round  about 
Dapples  the  drowsy  east  with  spots  of  gray. 


THE  TAMING   OF  THE  SHREW. 
INDUCTION. 

HOUNDS. 

Thy  hounds  shall  make  the  welkin  answer  them 
And  fetch  shrill  echoes  from  the  hollow  earth. 

PAINTING. 

Dost  thou  love  pictures?  we  will  fetch  thee  straight 

Adonis  painted  by  a  running  brook, 

And  Cytherea  all  in  sedges  hid, 

Which  seem  to  move  and  wanton  with  her  breath, 

Even  as  the  waving  sedges  play  with  wind. 

ACT    I. 

woman's  tongue. 

Think  you  a  little  din  can  daunt  mine  ears? 
Have  I  not  in  my  time  heard  lions  roar? 
Have  I  not  heard  the  sea  puflPd  up  with  winds 
Rage  like  an  angry  boar,  chafed  with  sweat? 
Have  I  not  heard  great  ordnance  in  the  field, 
And  heaven's  artillery  thunder  in  the  skies  ? 
Have  I  not  in  a  pitched  battle  heard 


90  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Loud  Uarums,  neighing  steeds,  and  trumpets'  clang? 
And  do  you  tell  me  of  a  woman's  tongue, 
That  gives  not  half  so  great  a  blow  to  hear 
As  will  a  chestnut  in  a  farmer's  fire  ? 


ACT    II. 

A   MARRIAGE    PORTION. 

My  house  within  the  city 
Is  richly  furnished  with  plate  and  gold ; 
Basins  and  ewers  to  lave  her  dainty  hands ; 
My  hangings  all  of  Tyrian  tapestry ; 
In  ivory  coffers  I  have  stuffed  my  crowns ; 
In  cypress  chests  my  arras  counterpoints. 
Costly  apparel,  tents,  and  canopies, 
Fine  linen,  Turkey  cushions  boss'd  with  pearl. 
Valance  of  Venice  gold  in  needlework, 
Pewter  and  brass  and  all  things  that  belong 
To  house  or  housekeeping :   then,  at  my  farm 
I  have  a  hundred  milch-kine  to  the  pail. 
Six  score  fat  oxen  standing  in  my  stalls, 
And  all  things  answerable  to  this  portion. 


ACT    III. 

A    MAD   WEDDING. 

Gremio.     When  the  priest. 
Should  ask,  if  Katharine  should  be  his  wife, 
'  Ay,  by  gogs-wouns,'  quoth  he  ;  and  swore  so  loud, 


The  Taming  of  the  Shrew.  91 

That,  all-amazed,  the  priest  let  fall  the  book ; 
And,  as  he  stoop'd  again  to  take  it  up, 
This  mad-brained  bridegroom  took  him  such  a  cuff 
That    down   fell    priest    and   book   and    book   and 

priest : 
'  Now  take  them  up,'  quoth  he,  '  if  any  list.' 

Tranio.    What  said  the  wench  when  he  rose  again? 

Gremio.    Trembled  and  shook  ;  for  why,  he  stamped 
and  swore. 
As  if  the  vicar  meant  to  cozen  him. 
But  after  many  ceremonies  done. 
He  calls  for  wine  :    '  A  health,'  quoth  he,  as  if 
He  had  been  aboard,  carousing  to  his  mates 
After  a  storm  ;   quaff 'd  off  the  muscadel ' 
And  threw  the  sops  all  in  the  sexton's  face ; 
Having  no  other  reason 
But  that  his  beard  grew  thin  and  hungerly 
And  seem'd  to  ask  him  sops  as  he  was  drinking. 
This  done,  he  took  the  bride  about  the  neck 
And  kiss'd  her  lips  with  such  a  clamorous  smack 
That  at  the  parting  all  the  church  did  echo. 

A   DOMINEERING    HUSBAND. 

I  will  be  master  of  what  is  mine  own : 

She  is  my  goods,  my  chattels ;  she  is  my  house, 

My  household  stuff,  my  field,  my  barn. 

My  horse,  my  ox,  my  ass,  my  anything ; 

And  here  she  stands,  touch  her  whoever  dare ; 

1  It  was  the  custom  for  the  company  present  to  drink  wine  im- 
mediately  after  the  marriage  ceremony. 


92  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

I  Ul  bring  mine  action  on  the  proudest  he 
That  stops  my  way. 


ACT   IV. 

THE    MIND   ALONE    VALUABLE. 

For  H  is  the  mind  that  makes  the  body  rich  ; 
And  as  the  sun  breaks  through  the  darkest  clouds. 
So  honour  peereth  ^  in  the  meanest  habit. 
What  is  the  jay  more  prtcious  than  the  lark, 
Because  his  feathers  are  more  beautiful? 
Or  is  the  adder  better  than  the  eel, 
Because  his  painted  skin  contents  the  eye? 
O,  no,  good  Kate ;  neither  art  thou  the  worse 
For  this  poor  furniture  and  mean  array. 

A   BEAUTIFUL   GENTLEWOMAN. 

Hast  thou  beheld  a  fresher  gentlewoman? 
Such  war  of  white  and  red  within  her  cheeks ! 
What  stars  do  spangle  heaven  with  such  beauty, 
As  those  two  eyes  become  that  heavenly  face  ? 


ACT   V. 

THE   wife's   duty   TO    HER    HUSBAND. 

Fie,  fie !  unknit  that  threatening  unkind  brow, 
And  dart  not  scornful  glances  from  those  eyes, 
To  wound  thy  lord,  thy  king,  thy  governor : 

» Appeareth. 


The  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  93 

It  blots  thy  beauty  as  frosts  do  bite  the  meads, 

Confounds  thy  fame  as  whirlwinds  shake  fair  buds, 

And  in  no  sense  is  meet  or  amiable. 

A  woman  moved  is  like  a  fountain  troubled. 

Muddy,  ill-seeming,  thick,  bereft  of  beauty ; 

And  while  it  is  so,  none  so  dry  or  thirsty 

Will  deign  to  sip  or  touch  one  drop  of  it. 

Thy  husband  is  thy  lord,  thy  life,  thy  keeper. 

Thy  head,  thy  sovereign  ;  one  that  cares  for  thee. 

And  for  thy  maintenance  commits  his  body 

To  painful  labour  both  by  sea  and  land. 

To  watch  the  night  in  storms,  the  day  in  cold, 

Whilst  thou  liest  warm  at  home,  secure  and  safe ; 

And  craves  no  other  tribute  at  thy  hands 

But  love,  fair  looks  and  true  obedience ; 

Too  little  payment  for  so  great  a  debt. 

Such  duty  as  the  subject  owes  the  prince 

Even  such  a  woman  oweth  to  her  husband ; 

And  when  she  's  froward,  peevish,  sullen,  sour, 

And  not  obedient  to  his  honest  will. 

What  is  she,  but  a  foul  contending  rebel 

And  graceless  traitor  to  her  loving  lord  ? 

I  am  ashamed  that  women  are  so  simple 

To  offer  war  where  they  should  kneel  for  peace. 

Or  seek  for  rule,  supremacy  and  sway, 

When  they  are  bound  to  serve,  love,  and  obey. 

Why  are  our  bodies  soft  and  weak  and  smooth, 

Unapt  to  toil  and  trouble  in  the  world ; 

But  that  our  soft  conditions  '  and  our  hearts 

Should  well  agree  with  our  external  parts? 

*  Gentle  tempers. 


THE    TEMPEST. 
ACT  I. 

A   USURPING   SUBSTITUTE    COMPARED    TO    IVY. 

He  was 
The  ivy,  which  had  hid  my  princely  trunk, 
And  suck'd  my  verdure  out  on  't. 

ARIEL'S  DESCRIPTION   OF    MANAGING   THE    STORM. 

Ariel.     All  hail,  great  master !  grave  sir,  hail !  I 
come 
To  answer  thy  best  pleasure ;  be  't  to  fly. 
To  swim,  to  dive  into  the  fire,  to  ride 
On  the  curPd  clouds :  to  thy  strong  bidding  task 
Ariel  and  all  his  quality. 

Prospero.     Hast  thou,  spirit, 
Performed  to  point  the  tempest  that  I  bade  thee? 

Ariel.     To  every  article. 
I  boarded  the  king's  ship  ;   now  on  the  beak. 
Now  in  the  waist,  the  deck,  in  every  cabin, 
I  flamed  amazement :  sometimes,  I  'Id  divide, 
And  burn  in  many  places ;  on  the  topmast. 
The  yards  and  bowsprit,  would  I  flame  distinctly. 
Then  meet,  and  join.  Jove's  lightnings,  the  precursors 
O'  the  dreadful  thunder-claps,  more  momentary 


The   Tempest.  95 

And  sight-outrunning  were  not ;  the  fire  and  cracks 
Of  sulphurous  roaring  the  most  mighty  Neptune 
Seem  to  besiege  and  make  his  bold  waves  tremble, 

Yea,  his  dread  trident  shake.  

Not  a  soul, 

But  felt  a  fever  of  the  mad  and  play'd 
Some  tricks  of  desperation.     All  but  mariners 
Plunged  in  the  foaming  brine  and  quit  the  vessel, 
Then  all  afire  with  me  :  the  king's  son,  Ferdinand, 
With  hair  up-staring,  —  then  like  reeds,  not  hair,  — 
Was   the   first   man   that    leaped  ;    cried,    '  Hell    is 

empty. 
And  all  the  devils  are  here.' 


PROSPERO    REPROVING   ARIEL. 

Prospero.     Dost  thou  forget 
From  what  a  torment  I  did  free  thee  ? 

Ariel.     No. 

Prospero.     Thou    dost,    and  think'st  it  much    to 
tread  the  ooze 
Of  the  salt  deep, 

To  run  upon  the  sharp  wind  of  the  north, 
To  do  me  business  in  the  veins  o'  the  earth 
When  it  is  baked  with  frost. 


CALIBAN'S    CURSES. 

Caliban.     As   wicked    dew   as    e'er   my    mother 
brush'd 
With  raven's  feather  from  unwholesome  fen 


96  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Drop  on  you  both  !  a  south-west  blow  on  ye 
And  blister  you  all  o'er  ! 

Prospero.     For  this,  be  sure,  to-night  thou  shalt 
have  cramps. 
Side-stitches  that  shall  pen  thy  breath  up  ;  urchins  i 
Shall,  for  that  vast  of  night  that  they  may  work, 
All  exercise  on  thee ;  thou  shalt  be  pinch'd 
As  thick  as  honeycomb,  each  pinch  more  stinging 
Than  bees  that  made  'em. 

Cal.  I  must  eat  my  dinner. 

This  island's  mine,  by  Sycorax  my  mother. 
Which  thou   takest  from    me.     When  thou  camest 

first 
Thou    strokedst    me,    and   madest    much    of    me, 

would'st  give  me 
Water  with  berries  in  't,  and  teach  me  how 
To  name  the  bigger  light,  and  how  the  less. 
That   burn  by  day   and  night :  and   then    I    loved 

thee 
And  show'd  thee  all  the  qualities  o'  the  isle. 
The    fresh    springs,    brine-pits,    barren    place    and 

fertile : 
Cursed  be  I  that  did  so  !     All  the  charms 
Of  Sycorax,  toads,  beetles,  bats,  light  on  you ! 
For  I  am  all  the  subjects  that  you  have, 
Which  first  was  mine  own  king :   and  here  you  sty 

me 
In  this  hard  rock,  whiles  you  do  keep  from  me 
The  rest  o'  the  island. 

^Fairies. 


The   Tempest,  97 


CALIBAN'S  EXULTATION  AFTER  PROSPERO  TELLS  HIM 
HE  SOUGHT  TO  VIOLATE  THE  HONOUR  OF  HIS 
CHILD. 

O  ho,  O  ho  !  —  would 't  had  been  done  ! 
Thou  didst  prevent  me ;   I  had  peopled  else 
This  isle  with  Calibans. 

MUSIC. 

Where  should  this  music  be  ?  i'  the  air,  or  the  earth  ? 
It  sounds  no  more :   and,  sure,  it  waits  upon 
Some  god  o'  the  island.     Sitting  on  a  bank, 
Weeping  again  the  king  my  father's  wreck. 
This  music  crept  by  me  upon  the  waters, 
Allaying  both  their  fury  and  my  passion 
With  its  sweet  air :   thence  I  have  follow'd  it, 
Or  it  hath  drawn  me  rather.     But  't  is  gone. 
No,  it  begins  again. 

Ariel  sings. 

Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies ; 
Of  his  bones  are  coral  made  ; 
Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes : 

Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange. 
Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell : 
Burthen.     Ding-dong. 
Ariel.  Hark  !  now  I  hear  them,  —  Ding-dong,  bell. 


98  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


A   PERFECT   MAN. 

There 's  nothing  ill  can  dwell  in  such  a  temple : 
If  the  ill  spirit  have  so  fair  a  house, 
Good  things  will  strive  to  dwell  with 't. 

A  lover's  speech. 

My  spirits,  as  in  a  dream,  are  all  bound  up. 
My  father's  loss,  the  weakness  which  I  feel, 
The  wreck  of  all  my  friends,  nor  this  man's  threats, 
To  whom  I  am  subdued,  are  but  light  to  me, 
Might  I  but  through  my  prison  once  a  day 
Behold  this  maid :  all  corners  else  o'  the  earth 
Let  liberty  make  use  of;  space  enough 
Have  I  in  such  a  prison. 


ACT   II. 

description    of    FERDINAND'S    SWIMMING     ASHORE. 

I  saw  him  beat  the  surges  under  him. 

And  ride  upon  their  backs ;  he  trod  the  water. 

Whose  enmity  he  flung  aside,  and  breasted 

The  surge  most  swoln  that  met  him  ;  his  bold  head 

'Bove  the  contentious  waves  he  kept,  and  oar'd 

Himself  with  his  good  arms  in  lusty  stroke 

To  the  shore,  that  o'er  his  wave-worn  basis  bowed. 

As  stooping  to  relieve  him :   I  not  doubt 

He  came  alive  to  land. 


The   Tempest.  99 


IDEAL   ANARCHY. 

V  the  Commonwealth  I  would  by  contraries 
Execute  all  things  ;   for  no  kind  of  traffic 
Would  I  admit ;   no  name  of  magistrate  ; 
Letters  should  not  be  known ;  riches,  poverty, 
And  use  of  service,  none ;  contract,  succession, 
Bourn,  bound  of  land,  tilth,  vineyard,  none ; 
No  use  of  metal,  corn,  or  wine,  or  oil ; 
No  occupation  ;  all  men  idle,  all ; 
And  women,  too,  but  innocent  and  pure ; 
No  sovereignty ; 

All  things  in  common  nature  should  produce 
Without  sweat  or  endeavour :  treason,  felony. 
Sword,  pike,  knife,  gun,  or  need  of  any  engine, 
Would  I  not  have ;   but  nature  should  bring  forth, 
Of  its  own  kind,  all  foison,  all  abundance, 
To  feed  my  innocent  people. 

SLEEP. 

Do  not  omit  the  heavy  offer  of  it : 

It  seldom  visits  sorrow  ;  when  it  doth. 

It  is  a  comforter. 

A   FINE   APOSIOPESIS. 

They  fell  together  all,  as  by  consent ; 
They  dropped,  as  by  a  thunder-stroke.     What  might. 
Worthy  Sebastian  ?     O,  what  might  ?  —  No  more  :  — 
And  yet  methinks  I  see  it  in  thy  face, 


loo  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

What  thou  shouldst  be  :  the  occasion  speaks  thee,  and 
My  strong  imagination  sees  a  crown 
Dropping  upon  thy  head. 


CALIBAN'S    CURSES. 

All  the  infections  that  the  sun  sucks  up 

From  bogs,  fens,  flats,  on  Prosper  fall  and  make  him 

By  inch-meal  a  disease !     His  spirits  hear  me 

And  yet  I  needs  must  curse.     But  they  '11  nor  pinch, 

Fright  me  with  urchin-shows,  pitch  me  i'  the  mire, 

Nor  lead  me,  like  a  fire-brand,  in  the  dark 

Out  of  my  way,  unless  he  bid  'em  ;  but 

For  every  trifle  are  they  set  upon  me ; 

Sometime  hke  apes  that  mow  ^  and  chatter.at  me 

And  after  bite  me,  then  like  hedgehogs  which 

Lie  tumbling  in  my  barefoot  way  and  mount 

Their  pricks  at  my  footfall ;   sometime  am  I 

All  wound  with  adders  who  with  cloven  tongues, 

Do  hiss  me  into  madness.     Lo  !  now,  lo  ! 

Here  comes  a  spirit  of  his,  and  to  torment  me. 

For  bringing  wood  in  slowly.     I  '11  fall  flat ; 

Perchance  he  will  not  mind  me. 


SATIRE   ON    ENGLISH    CURIOSITY. 

Were  I  in  England  now,  as  once  I  was,  and  had 
but  this  fish  painted,  not  a  holiday  fool  there  but 
would  give  a  piece  of  silver:  there  would  this  monster 
make  a  man  ;  any  strange  beast  there  makes  a  man  : 

iMake  mouths. 


The   Tempest.  loi 

when  they  will  not  give  a  doit  to  relieve  a  lame  beg- 
gar, they  will  lay  out  ten  to  see  a  dead  Indian. 


CALIBAN'S   PROMISES. 

I  '11    show  thee    the   best  springs ;    I  '11  pluck    thee 

berries ; 
I  '11  fish  for  thee  and  get  thee  wood  enough. 
A  plague  upon  the  tyrant  that  I  serve  ! 
I  '11  bear  him  no  more  sticks,  but  follow  thee, 
Thou  wondrous  man. 

I  prithee,  let  me  bring  thee  where  crabs  grow ; 
And  I  with  my  long  nails  will  dig  thee  pig-nuts ; 
Show  thee  a  jay's  nest  and  instruct  thee  how 
To  snare  the  nimble  marmoset ;  I  '11  bring  thee 
To  clustering  filberts  and  sometimes  I  '11  get  thee 
Young  scamels  ^  from  the  rock. 


ACT   III. 

THE    WOOING   OF    MIRANDA. 

Ferdinand.     There  be  some  sports   are   painful, 
and  their  labour 
Delight  in  them  sets  oif :  some  kinds  of  baseness 
Are  nobly  undergone  and  most  poor  matters 
Point  to  rich  ends.     This  my  mean  task 
Would  be  as  heavy  to  me  as  odious,  but 
The  mistress  which  I  serve  quickens  what 's  dead, 
And  makes  my  labours  pleasures :  O,  she  is 

1  Bar-tailed  godwits. 


I02  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Ten  times  more  gentle  than  her  father  's  crabbed, 
And  he  's  composed  of  harshness.     I  must  remove 
Some  thousands  of  these  logs  and  pile  them  up, 
Upon  a  sore  injunction  :  my  sweet  mistress 
Weeps  when  she  sees  me  work,  and  says,  such  base- 
ness 
Had  never  like  executor.     I  forget : 
But    these    sweet    thoughts    do    even    refresh    my 

labours ; 
Most  busy  lest,  when  I  do  it. 

Enter  Miranda ;  and  Prospero  at  a  distance^  unseen. 

Miranda.  Alas,  now,  pray  you, 

Work  not  so  hard :   I  would,  the  lightning  had 
Burnt  up  those  logs  that  you  are  enjoined  to  pile ! 
Pray,  set  it  down,  and  rest  you :  when  this  burns, 
'T  will  weep  for  having  wearied  you.     My  father 
Is  hard  at  study;  pray  now,  rest  yourself; 
He's  safe  for  these  three  hours. 

Fer.  O  most  dear  mistress, 

The  sun  will  set,  before  I  shall  discharge 
What  I  must  strive  to  do. 

Mir  a.  If  you  Ul  sit  down, 

I  '11  bear  your  logs  the  while  :   pray  give  me  that ; 
I  '11  carry  it  to  the  pile. 

Fer.  No,  precious  creature  ; 

I  had  rather  crack  my  sinews,  break  my  back, 
Than  you  should  such  dishonour  undergo, 
While  I  sit  lazy  by. 

Mir  a.  It  would  become  me 

As  well  as  it  does  you :  and  I  should  do  it 


The    Tempest.  103 

With  much  more  ease ;   for  my  good  will  is  to  it, 
And  yours  it  is  against. 

Pro.  Poor  worm  !  thou  art  infected  ! 

This  visitation  shows  it. 

Mir  a.  You  look  wearily. 

Fer.     No,  noble  mistress  ;  't  is  fresh  morning  with 
me 
When  you  are  by  at  night.     I  do  beseech  you  — 
Chiefly,  that  I  might  set  it  in  my  prayers  — 
What  is  your  name? 

Mir  a.  Miranda.  — O  my  father, 

I  have  broke  your  hest^  to  say  so ! 

Fer.  Admired  Miranda 

Indeed  the  top  of  admiration  !  worth 
What 's  dearest  to  the  world  !     Full  many  a  lady 
I  have  eyed  with  best  regard  and  many  a  time 
The  harmony  of  their  tongues  hath  into  bondage 
Brought  my  too  diligent  ear :  for  several  virtues 
Have  I  liked  several  women ;   never  any 
With  so  full  soul,  but  some  defect  in  her 
Did  quarrel  with  the  noblest  grace  she  owed  * 
And  put  it  to  the  foil :  but  you,  O  you, 
So  perfect  and  so  peerless,  are  created 
Of  every  creature's  best. 

Mir  a.  I  do  not  know 

One  of  my  sex ;  no  woman's  face  remember, 
Save,  from  my  glass,  mine  own ;  nor  have  I  seen 
More  that  I  may  call  men  than  you,  good  friend. 
And  my  dear  father :  how  features  are  abroad, 

1  Command.  «  Owned. 


104  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

1  am  skilless  of;  but,  by  my  modesty, 
The  jewel  in  my  dower,  I  would  not  wish 
Any  companion  in  the  world  but  you, 
Nor  can  imagination  form  a  shape, 
Besides  yourself,  to  like  of.     But  I  prattle 
Something  too  wildly  and  my  father's  precepts 
I  therein  do  forget. 

Fer.  I  am  in  my  condition 

A  prince,  Miranda;  I  do  think,  a  king; 
I  would,  not  so  !  —  and  would  no  more  endure 
This  wooden  slavery,  than  to  suffer 
The  flesh-fly  blow  my  mouth.     Hear  my  soul  speak : 
The  very  instant  that  I  saw  you,  did 
My  heart  fly  to  your  service ;  there  resides, 
To  make  me  slave  to  it ;  and  for  your  sake 
Am  I  this  patient  log-man. 

Mira.  Do  you  love  me? 

Fer.    O  heaven,  O  earth,  bear  witness  to  tliis  sound 
And  crown  what  I  profess  with  kind  event 
If  I  speak  true  !  if  hollowly,  invert 
What  best  is  boded  me  to  mischief!     I 
Beyond  all  limit  of  what  else  '  i'  the  world 
Do  love,  prize,  honour  you. 

Mira.  I  am  a  fool, 

To  weep  at  what  I  am  glad  of. 

Pro.  Fair  encounter 

Of  two  most  rare  affections  !     Heavens  rain  grace 
On  that  which  breeds  between  them ! 

Fer.  Wherefore  weep  you  1 

*  "Whatsoever. 


The   Tempest.  105 

Mir  a.     At  mine  unworthiness  that  dare  not  offer 
What  I  desire  to  give,  and  much  less  take 
What  I  shall  die  to  want.     But  this  is  trifling ; 
And  all  the  more  it  seeks  to  hide  itself, 
The  bigger  bulk  it  shows.     Hence,  bashful  cunning! 
And  prompt  me,  plain  and  holy  innocence ! 
I  am  your  wife,  if  you  will  marry  me  ; 
If  not,  I  '11  die  your  maid  :  to  be  your  fellow 
You  may  deny  me ;  but  I  '11  be  your  servant, 
Whether  you  will  or  no. 

Fer.  My  mistress,  dearest, 

And  I  thus  humble  ever. 

Mira.  My  husband  then? 

Fer.     Ay,  with  a  heart  as  willing 
As  bondage  e'er  of  freedom  :   here  's  my  hand. 

Mira.     And  mine,  with  my  heart  in 't ;  and  now 
farewell 
Till  half  an  hour  hence. 

Fer.  A  thousand  thousand  ! 


AN   ENCHANTED   ISLE. 

The  isle  is  full  of  noises, 
Sounds  and  sweet  airs,  that  give  delight  and  hurt  not. 
Sometimes  a  thousand  twangling  instruments 
Will  hum  about  mine  ears,  and  sometime  voices 
That  if  I  then  had  waked  after  long  sleep, 
Will  make  me  sleep  again :  and  then,  in  dreaming. 
The  clouds  methought  would  open  and  show  riches 
Ready  to  drop  upon  me,  that,  when  I  waked, 
I  cried  to  dream  again. 


io6  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


A   GUILTY   CONSCIENCE. 

O,  it  is  monstrous  !  monstrous  ! 
Methought  the  billows  spoke  and  told  me  of  it ; 
The  winds  did  sing  it  to  me,  and  the  thunder, 
That  deep  and  dreadful  organ-pipe,  pronounced 
The  name  of  Prosper. 


ACT  IV. 

CONTINENCE   BEFORE   MARRIAGE. 

If  thou  dost  break  her  virgin-knot  before 
All  sanctimonious  ceremonies  may 
With  full  and  holy  rite  be  ministered. 
No  sweet  aspersion  i  shall  the  heavens  let  fall 
To  make  this  contract  grow ;  but  barren  hate, 
Sour-eyed  disdain  and  discord  shall  bestrew 
The  union  of  your  bed  with  weeds  so  loathly 
That  you  shall  hate  it  both. 

A  lover's   PROTESTATION. 

As  I  hope 
For  quiet  days,  fair  issue  and  long  life, 
With  such  love  as  't  is  now,  the  murkiest  den, 
The  most  opportune  place,  the  strongest  suggestion 
Our  worser  genius  can,  shall  never  melt 
Mine  honour  into  lust,  to  take  away 
The  edge  of  that  day's  celebration 

1  sprinkling. 


The   Tempest,  107 

When  I  shall  think,  or  Phoebus'  steeds  are  founder'd. 
Or  Night  kept  chained  below. 

PASSION   TOO    STRONG   FOR   VOWS. 

Look  thou  be  true  ;  do  not  give  dalliance 
Too  much  the  rein :  the  strongest  oaths  are  straw 
To  the  fire  i'  the  blood :  be  more  abstemious, 
Or  else,  good  night  your  vow ! 

VANITY   OF    HUMAN  NATURE. 

These  our  actors, 
As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits  and 
Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air : 
And,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision. 
The  cloud-capp'd  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve 
And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded,  ^ 
Leave  not  a  rack^  behind.     We  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep. 

DRUNKARDS    ENCHANTED   BY   ARIEL. 

I  told  you,  sir,  they  were  red-hot  with  drinking ; 
So  full  of  valour  that  they  smote  the  air 
For  breathing  in  their  faces  ;  beat  the  ground 
For  kissing  of  their  feet ;  yet  always  bending 

1  Vanished. 

*A  body  of  clouds  in  motion;  but  it  is  most  probable  that  the 
author  wrote  track. 


io8  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Towards  their  project.     Then  I  beat  my  tabor ; 
At  which,  like  unbackM  colts,  they  pricked  their  ears, 
Advanced  their  eyeUds,  lifted  up  their  noses 
As  they  smelt  music :  so  I  charm'd  their  ears 
That  calf-like  they  my  lowing  followed  through 
Tooth'd   briers,   sharp    furzes,    pricking    goss    and 

thorns, 
Which  entered  their  frail  shins :  at  last  I  left  them 
V  the  filthy-mantled  pool  beyond  your  cell, 
There  dancing  up  to  the  chins. 

LIGHTNESS    OF  FOOT. 

Pray  you,  tread  softly,  that  the  blind  mole  may  not 
Hear  a  foot  fall. 


ACT  V. 

TEARS. 

His  tears  run  down  his  beard,  like  winter's  drops 
From  eaves  *  of  reeds. 


COMPASSION   AND    CLEMENCY    SUPERIOR   TO 
REVENGE. 

Hast  thou,  which  art  but  air,  a  touch,  a  feeling 
Of  their  afflictions,  and  shall  not  myself. 
One  of  their  kind,  that  relish  all  as  sharply. 
Passion  as  they,  be  kindlier  moved  than  thou  art? 
Though  with  their  high  wrongs  I  am  struck  to  the 
quick, 

1  Thatch. 


The    Tempest,  109 

Yet,  with  my  nobler  reason  'gainst  my  fury 

Do  I  take  part :  the  rarer  action  is 

In  virtue  than  in  vengeance :  they  being  penitent, 

The  sole  drift  of  my  purpose  doth  extend 

Not  a  frown  further. 


FAIRIES   AND   MAGIC. 

Ye  elves  of  hills,  brooks,  standing  lakes  and  groves, 
And  ye  that  on  the  sands  with  printless  foot 
Do  chase  the  ebbing  Neptune  and  do  fly  him 
When  he  comes  back ;  you  demi-puppets  that 
By  moonshine  do  the  green  sour  ringlets  make, 
Whereof  the  ewe  not  bites,  and  you  whose  pastime 
Is  to  make  midnight  mushrooms,  that  rejoice 
To  hear  the  solemn  curfew  ;  by  whose  aid. 
Weak  masters  though  you  be,  I  have  bedimm'd 
The  noontide  sun,  calPd  forth  the  mutinous  winds. 
And  'twixt  the  green  sea  and  the  azured  vault 
Set  roaring  war :  to  the  dread  rattling  thunder 
Have  I  given  fire  and  rifted  Jove's  stout  oak 
With  his  own  bolt :  the  strong-based  promontory 
Have  I  made  shake  and  by  the  spurs  pluck'd  up 
The  pine  and  cedar :  graves  at  my  command 
Have  waked  their  sleepers,  oped,  and  let  'em  forth 
By  my  so  potent  art. 


SENSES    RETURNING. 

The  charm  dissolves  apace. 
And  as  the  morning  steals  upon  the  night, 


no  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Melting  the  darkness,  so  their  rising  senses 

Begin  to  chase  the  ignorant  fumes  that  mantle 

Their  clearer  reason.     O  good  Gonzalo, 

My  true  preserver,  and  a  loyal  sir 

To  him  thou  follow'st !     I  will  pay  thy  graces 

Home  both  in  word  and  deed.     Most  cruelly 

Didst  thou,  Alonzo,  use  me  and  my  daughter: 

Thy  brother  was  a  furtherer  in  the  act. 

Thou'rt  pinchM  for't    now,   Sebastian.     Flesh  and 

blood, 
You  brother  mine,  that  entertain'd  ambition, 
Expeird  remorse  '  and  nature ;  who,  with  Sebastian, 
Whose  inward  pinches  therefore  are  most  strong. 
Would  here  have  kill'd  your  king ;  I  do  forgive  thee. 
Unnatural  though  thou  art.     Their  understanding 
Begins  to  swell,  and  the  approaching  tide 
Will  shortly  fill  the  reasonable  shore 
That  now  lies  foul  and  muddy.     Not  one  of  them, 
That  yet  looks  on  me,  or  would  know  me. 

ARIEL'S    SONG. 

Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I : 

In  a  cowslip's  bell  I  lie ; 

There  I  couch  when  owls  do  cry. 

On  the  bat's  back  I  do  fly 

After  summer  merrily. 
Merrily,  merrily  shall  I  live  now 
Und^r  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough. 

"*  Pity  or  tenderness  of  heart. 


TWELFTH   NIGHT. 
ACT  I. 

MUSIC. 

If  music  be  the  food  of  love,  play  on ; 
Give  me  excess  of  it,  that,  surfeiting, 
The  appetite  may  sicken,  and  so  die. 
That  strain  again  !  it  had  a  dying  fall : 
O,  it  came  o'er  my  ear  like  the  sweet  sound, 
That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets, 
Jtealing,  and  giving  odour. 

NATURAL   AFFECTION   ALLIED    TO    LOVE. 

O,  she  that  hath  a  heart  of  that  fine  frame 
To  pay  this  debt  of  love  but  to  a  brother. 
How  will  she  love,  when  the  rich  golden  shaft 
Hath  kill'd  the  flock  of  all  affections  else 
That  live  in  her ;  when  liver,  brain  and  heart. 
These  sovereign  thrones,  are  all  supplied,  and  filPd 
Her  sweet  perfections  with  one  self  king ! 

ESCAPE   FROM    DANGER. 

I  saw  your  brother. 
Most  provident  in  peril,  bind  himself, 


112  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Courage  and  hope  both  teaching  him  the  practice, 
To  a  strong  mast  that  lived  upon  the  sea ; 
Where,  like  Arion  on  the  dolphin's  back, 
I  saw  him  hold  acquaintance  with  the  waves 
So  long  as  I  could  see. 

A   BEAUTIFUL    BOY. 

Dear  lad,  believe  it ; 
For  they  shall  yet  belie  thy  happy  years, 
That  say  thou  art  a  man  :  Diana's  lip 
Is  not  more  smooth  and  rubious ;  thy  small  pipe 
Is  as  the  maiden's  organ,  shrill  and  sound. 
And  all  is  semblative  a  woman's  part. 

DETERMINED    LOVE. 

Olivia.  Why,  what  would  you? 

Viola.     Make  me  a  willow  cabin  at  your  gate, 
And  call  upon  my  soul  within  the  house ; 
Write  loyal  cantons  '  of  contemned  love 
And  sing  them  loud  even  in  the  dead  of  night ; 
Halloo  your  name  to  the  reverberate  **  hills 
And  make  the  babbling  gossip  of  the  air 
Cry  out  '  Olivia  ! '     O,  you  should  not  rest 
Between  the  elements  of  air  and  earth, 
But  you  should  pity  me. 

LOVE   AT   FIRST   SIGHT. 

'  What  is  your  parentage? ' 
*  Above  my  fortunes,  yet  my  state  is  well : 

1  Cantos,  verses.  '  Echoing. 


Twelfth  Night,  113 

I  am  a  gentleman.'     I  '11  be  sworn  thou  art ; 

Thy  tongue,  thy  face,  thy  limbs,  actions  and  spirit, 

Do  give  thee  five-fold  blazon:    not  too  fast;   soft, 

soft! 
Unless  the  master  were  the  man.     How  now  ! 
Even  so  quickly  may  one  catch  the  plague? 
Methinks  I  feel  this  youth's  perfections 
With  an  invisible  and  subtle  stealth 
To  creep  in  at  mine  eyes.     Well,  let  it  be. 


ACT   II. 

DISGUISE. 

Disguise,  I  see,  thou  art  a  wickedness. 
Wherein  the  pregnant  ^  enemy  does  much. 
How  easy  is  it,  for  the  proper-false  ^ 
In  women's  waxen  hearts  to  set  their  forms ! 
Alas,  our  frailty  is  the  cause,  not  we  ! 
For  such  as  we  are  made  of,  such  we  be. 

TRUE    LOVE. 

Come  hither,  boy  :  if  ever  thou  shalt  love, 
In  the  sweet  pangs  of  it  remember  me  ; 
For,  such  as  I  am  all  true  lovers  are, 
Unstaid  and  skittish  in  all  motions  else, 
Save  in  the  constant  image  of  the  creature 
That  is  beloved. 

»  Dexterous,  ready  fiend.  a  Fair  deceiver. 


114  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 


THE  WOMAN  SHOULD  BE  YOUNGEST  IN  LOVE. 

Duke.    Too  old,  by  heaven :  let  still  the  woman 
take 
An  elder  than  herself;  so  wears  she  to  him, 
So  sways  she  level  in  her  husband's  heart : 
For,  boy,  however  we  do  praise  ourselves ; 
Our  fancies  are  more  giddy  and  unfirm. 
More  longing,  wavering,  sooner  lost  and  worn, 
than  women's  are. 

Viola.  I  think  it  well,  my  lord. 

Duke.    Then  let  thy  love  be  younger  than  thy- 
self. 
Or  thy  affection  can  not  hold  the  bent ; 
For  women  are  as  roses,  whose  fair  flower 
Being  once  displayed,  doth  fall  that  very  hour. 

CHARACTER   OF   AN   OLD    SONG. 

Come,  the  song  we  had  last  night. 
Mark  it,  Cesario,  it  is  old  and  plain ; 
The  spinsters  and  the  knitters  in  the  sun 
And  the  free   maids  that   weave  their  thread   with 

bones  i 
Do  use  to  chant  it ;  it  is  silly  sooth, ^ 
And  dallies  with  the  innocence  of  love, 
Like  the  old  age.' 

1  Lace-makers.  '  Simple  truth. 

*  Times  of  simplicity. 


Twelfth  Night.  115 


SONG. 

Come  away,  come  away,  death. 

And  in  sad  cypress  let  me  be  laid ; 
Fly  away,  fly  away,  breath  ; 

I  am  slain  by  a  fair  cruel  maid. 
My  shroud  of  white,  stuck  all  with  yew, 

O,  prepare  it ; 
My  part  of  death,  no  one  so  true 
Did  share  it. 

Not  a  flower,  not  a  flower  sweet. 

On  my  black  coffin  let  there  be  strown ; 
Not  a  friend,  not  a  friend  greet 

My  poor  corpse,    where  my  bones    shall  be 
thrown : 
A  thousand  thousand  sighs  to  save, 

Lay  me,  O,  where 
Sad  true  lover  never  find  my  grave, 
To  weep  there ! 


CONCEALED  LOVE. 

She  never  told  her  love. 
But  let  concealment,  like  a  worm  i'  the  bud, 
Feed  on  her  damask  cheek :  she  pined  in  thought. 
And  with  a  green  and  yellow  melancholy 
She  sat  like  patience  on  a  monument, 
Smiling  at  grief. 


ii6  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 


GREATNESS. 


In  my  stars  I  am  above  thee ;  but  be  not  afraid  of 
greatness :  some  are  born  great,  some  achieve  great- 
ness and  some  have  greatness  thrust  upon  'em. 


ACT   III. 

JESTER. 

This  fellow  is  wise  enough  to  play  the  fool ; 

And  to  do  that  well  craves  a  kind  of  wit : 

He  must  observe  their  mood  on  whom  he  jests. 

The  quality  of  persons,  and  the  time, 

And,  like  the  haggard,'  check  at  every  feather 

That  comes  before  his  eye.     This  is  a  practice 

As  full  of  labour  as  a  wise  man's  art : 

For  folly  that  he  wisely  shows  is  fit ; 

But  wise  men,  folly  fallen,  quite  taint  their  wit. 

UNSOUGHT   LOVE. 

Cesario,  by  the  roses  of  the  spring, 

By  maidhood,  honour,  truth  and  every  thing, 

I  love  thee  so,  that,  maugre^  all  thy  pride. 

Nor  wit  nor  reason  can  my  passion  hide. 

Do  not  extort  thy  reasons  from  this  clause. 

For  that  I  woo,  thou  therefore  hast  no  cause ; 

But  rather  reason  thus  with  reason  fetter. 

Love  sought  is  good,  but  given  unsought  is  better. 

^  A  hawk  not  well  trained.  >  In  spite  of. 


Twelfth  Night.  117 

INGRATITUDE. 

I  hate  ingratitude  more  in  a  man 
Than  lying,  vainness,  babbling,  drunkenness, 
Or  any  taint  of  vice  whose  strong  corruption 
Inhabits  our  frail  blood. 


THE   TWO    GENTLEMEN   OF   VERONA. 
ACT  I. 

LOVE   COMMENDED   AND   CENSURED. 

Proteus.      Yet   writers   say,    as   in   the   sweetest 

bud 
The  eating  canker  dwells,  so  eating  love 
Inhabits  in  the  finest  wits  of  all. 

Valentine.     And  writers  say,  as  the  most  forward 

bud 
Is  eaten  by  the  canker  ere  it  blow. 
Even  so  by  love  the  young  and  tender  wit 
Is  turn'd  to  folly,  blasting  in  the  bud, 
Losing  his  verdure  even  in  the  prime 
And  all  the  fair  effects  of  future  hopes. 

A  woman's  reason. 

I  have  no  other  but  a  woman's  reason ; 
I  think  him  so  because  I  think  him  so. 


LOVE   FROWARD   AND   DISSEMBLING. 

Maids,  in  modesty,  say  *  no,'  to  that 
Which  they  would  have  the  profferer  construe  '  ay. 
Fie,  fie,  how  wayward  is  this  foolish  love 


The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona.       119 

That,  like  a  testy  babe,  will  scratch  the  nurse 
And  presently  all  humbled  kiss  the  rod  ! 


ADVANTAGE   OF    TRAVELLING. 

He  cannot  be  a  perfect  man. 
Not  being  tried  and  tutor'd  in  the  world : 
Experience  is  by  industry  achieved 
And  perfected  by  the  swift  course  of  time. 


LOVE   COMPARED   TO   AN  APRIL   DAY. 

O,  how  this  spring  of  love  resembleth 
The  uncertain  glory  of  an  April  day. 

Which  now  shows  all  the  beauty  of  the  sun, 
And  by  and  by  a  cloud  takes  all  away ! 


ACT  II. 

HUMOROUS   DESCRIPTION   OF   A   MAN   IN   LOVE. 

Valentine.    How  know  you  that  I  am  in  love  ? 

Speed.  Marry,  by  these  special  marks :  first, 
you  have  learned,  like  Sir  Proteus,  to  wreath  your 
arms  like  a  malecontent ;  to  relish  a  love-song,  like 
a  robin-redbreast ;  to  walk  alone,  like  one  that  had 
the  pestilence ;  to  sigh,  like  a  school-boy  that  had 
lost  his  ABC;  to  weep,  like  a  young  wench  that 
had  buried  her  grandam  ;  to  fast,  like  one  that  takes 
diet;*  to  watch,  Hke   one   that   fears   robbing;    to 

1  Under  a  regimen. 


I20  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

speak  puling,  like  a  beggar  at  Hallowmas.*  You 
were  wont,  when  you  laughed,  to  crow  like  a  cock ; 
when  you  walked,  to  walk  like  one  of  the  lions ; 
when  you  fasted,  it  was  presently  after  dinner; 
when  you  looked  sadly,  it  was  for  want  of  money : 
and  now  you  are  metamorphosed  with  a  mistress, 
that,  when  I  look  on  you,  I  can  hardly  think  you 
my  master. 

AN  ACCOMPLISHED  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN. 

His  years  but  young,  but  his  experience  old ; 
His  head  unmellow'd,  but  his  judgment  ripe  ; 
And,  in  a  word,  for  far  behind  his  worth 
Comes  all  the  praises  that  I  now  bestow. 
He  is  complete  in  feature  and  in  mind, 
With  all  good  grace  to  grace  a  gentleman. 

CONTEMPT   OF   LOVE   PUNISHED. 

I  have  done  penance  for  contemning  Love, 

Whose  high  imperious  thoughts  have  punishM  me 

With  bitter  fasts,  with  penitential  groans, 

With  nightly  tears  and  daily  heart-sore  sighs ; 

For  in  revenge  of  my  contempt  of  love. 

Love  hath  chased  sleep  from  my  enthralled  eyes 

And    made   them   watchers    of    mine    own    heart's 

•'^orrow. 
O,  gentle  Proteus,  Love 's  a  mighty  lord ; 
And  hath  so  humbled  me  as  I  confess 

*  Allhallowmas 


The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,       121 

There  is  no  woe  to  his  correction 
Nor  to  his  service  no  such  joy  on  earth. 
Now  no  discourse,  except  it  be  of  love ; 
Now  can  I  break  my  fast,  dine,  sup  and  sleep, 
Upon  the  very  naked  name  of  love. 


LOVE   COMPARED    TO   A   WAXEN   IMAGE. 

For  now  my  love  is  thaw'd ; 
Which,  like  a  waxen  image  'gainst  a  fire. 
Bears  no  impression  of  the  thing  it  was. 

LOVE   INCREASED   BY   ATTEMPTS    TO    SUPPRESS    IT. 

Julia.     Didst  thou   but   know  the  inly  touch  of 
love. 
Thou  wouldst  as  soon  go  kindle  fire  with  snow 
As  seek  to  quench  the  fire  of  love  with  words. 

Lucetta.     I  do  not  seek  to  quench  your  love's  hot 
fire, 
But  qualify  the  fire's  extreme  rage, 
Lest  it  should  burn  above  the  bounds  of  reason. 

Jul.    The  more  thou  damm'st  it  up,  the  more  it 
burns ; 
The  current  that  with  gentle  murmur  glides, 
Thou  know'st,  being  stopp'd,  impatiently  doth  rage ; 
But,  when  his  fair  course  is  not  hindered, 
He  makes  sweet  music  with  the  enamell'd  stones, 
Giving  a  gentle  kiss  to  every  sedge 
He  overtaketh  in  his  pilgrimage. 
And  so  by  many  winding  nooks  he  strays, 


122  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

With  willing  sport  to  the  wild  ocean. 
Then  let  me  go  and  hinder  not  my  course : 
I  '11  be  as  patient  as  a  gentle  stream 
And  make  a  pastime  of  each  weary  step, 
Till  the  last  step  have  brought  me  to  my  love ; 
And  there  I  '11  rest,  as,  after  much  turmoil 
A  blessed  soul  doth  in  Elysium. 


A   FAITHFUL   AND   CONSTANT    LOVER. 

His  words  are  bonds,  his  oaths  are  oracles. 
His  love  sincere,  his  thoughts  immaculate. 
His  tears,  pure  messengers  sent  from  his  heart, 
His  heart  as  far  from  fraud  as  heaven  from  earth. 


ACT   III. 

PRESENTS   PREVAIL   WITH    WOMEN. 

Win  her  with  gifts,  if  she  respect  not  words : 

Dumb  jewels  often,  in  their  silent  kind 

More  than  quick  words  do  move  a  woman's  mind. 

A    lover's   BANISHMENT. 

And  why  not  death  rather  than  living  torment? 
To  die  is  to  be  banish'd  from  myself; 
And  Silvia  is  myself:  banish'd  from  her 
Is  self  from  self;  a  deadly  banishment ! 
What  light  is  light,  if  Silvia  be  not  seen? 
What  joy  is  joy,  if  Silvia  be  not  by? 


The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona.        123 

Unless  it  be  to  think  that  she  is  by 
And  feed  upon  the  shadow  of  perfection. 
Except  I  be  by  Silvia  in  the  night, 
There  is  no  music  in  the  nightingale  ; 
Unless  I  look  on  Silvia  in  the  day, 
There  is  no  day  for  me  to  look  upon. 

BEAUTY    PETITIONING   IN   VAIN. 

Ay,  ay ;  and  she  hath  offered  to  the  doom  — 
Which,  unreversed,  stands  in  effectual  force,  — 
A  sea  of  melting  pearl,  which  some  call  tears : 
Those  at  her  father's  churlish  feet  she  tendered ; 
With  them,  upon  her  knees,  her  humble  self; 
Wringing   her   hands,    whose  whiteness  so  became 

them 
As  if  but  now  they  waxed  pale  for  woe : 
But  neither  bended  knees,  pure  hands  held  up. 
Sad  sighs,  deep  groans,  nor  silver-shedding  tears. 
Could  penetrate  her  uncompassionate  sire. 

HOPE. 

Hope  is  a  lover's  staff;  walk  hence  with  that 
And  manage  it  against  despairing  thoughts. 

LOVE   COMPARED    TO   A   FIGURE    ON    ICE. 

This  weak  impress  of  love  is  as  a  figure 
Trenched  *  in  ice,  which  with  an  hour's  heat 
Dissolves  to  water  and  doth  lose  his  form. 

iCut. 


124  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 


THREE   THINGS   IN   MAN   DISLIKED   BY   FEMALES. 

The  best  way  is  to  slander  Valentine 

With  falsehood,  cowardice,  and  poor  descent, 

Three  things  that  women  highly  hold  in  hate. 

THE    POWER   OF    POETRY   WITH    FEMALES. 

Proteus.     You  must  lay  lime  to  tangle  her  desires 
By  wailful  sonnets,  whose  composed  rhymes 
Should  be  full  fraught  with  serviceable  vows. 

Duke.  Ay, 

Much  is  the  force  of  heaven-bred  poesy. 

Proteus.     Say  that  upon  the  altar  of  her  beauty 
You  sacrifice  your  tears,  your  sighs,  your  heart : 
Write  till  your  ink  be  dry,  and  with  your  tears 
Moist  it  again,  and  frame  some  feeling  line 
That  may  discover  such  integrity : 
For  Orpheus'  lute  was  strung  with  poets'  sinews, 
Whose  golden  touch  could  soften  steel  and  stones, 
Make  tigers  tame,  and  huge  leviathans 
Forsake  unsounded  deeps  to  dance  on  sands. 

THE   POWER   OF   MUSIC. 

After  your  dire-lamenting  elegies, 

Visit  by  night  your  lady's  chamber-window 

With  some  sweet  concert ;  to  their  instruments 

Tune  a  deploring  dump :  the  night's  dead  silence 

Will  well  become  such  sweet-complaining  grievance. 


77?^  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona.       125 


ACT   IV. 

SONG. 

Who  is  Silvia?     What  is  she, 

That  all  our  swains  commend  her? 

Holy,  fair  and  wise  is  she ; 

The  heaven  such  grace  did  lend  her 

That  she  might  admired  be. 

Is  she  kind  as  she  is  fair? 

For  beauty  lives  with  kindness. 
Love  doth  to  her  eyes  repair 

To  help  him  of  his  blindness. 
And,  being  help'd,  inhabits  there. 

Then  to  Silvia,  let  us  sing. 

That  Silvia  is  excelling ; 
She  excels  each  mortal  thing 

Upon  the  dull  earth  dwelling : 
To  her  let  us  garlands  bring. 

THE   POWER   OF   ACTION. 

At  that  time  I  made  her  weep  agood,^ 
For  I  did  play  a  lamentable  part : 
Madam,  'twas  Ariadne  passioning 
For  Theseus'  perjury,  and  unjust  flight ; 
Which  I  so  lively  acted  with  my  tears 
That  my  poor  mistress,  moved  therewithal, 

»  In  good  earnest. 


126  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Wept  bitterly ;  and  would  I  might  be  dead 
If  I  in  thought  felt  not  her  very  sorrow ! 


TRIFLES    DETERMINING   LOVE, 

Alas,  how  love  can  trifle  with  itself! 

Here  is  her  picture  :   let  me  see  ;   I  think. 

If  I  had  such  a  tire,  this  face  of  mine 

Were  full  as  lovely  as  is  this  of  hers : 

And  yet  the  painter  flatter'd  her  a  little, 

Unless  I  flatter  with  myself  too  much. 

Her  hair  is  auburn,  mine  is  perfect  yellow ; 

If  that  be  all  the  difference  in  his  love, 

I  '11  get  me  such  a  coloured  periwig. 

Her  eyes  are  gray  as  glass,  and  so  are  mine : 

Ay,  but  her  forehead  's  low,  and  mine  's  as  high. 

What  should  it  be  that  he  respects  in  her 

But  I  can  make  respective  in  myself. 

If  this  blind  Love  were  not  a  blinded  god? 


ACT   V. 

A    LOVER    IN   SOLITUDE. 

How  use  doth  breed  a  habit  in  a  man ! 
This  shadowy  desert,  unfrequented  woods, 
I  better  brook  than  flourishing  peopled  towns 
Here  can  I  sit  alone,  unseen  of  any. 
And  to  the  nightingale's  complaining  notes. 
Tune  my  distresses  and  record  '  my  woes. 

»  Sing. 


The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,       127 

0  thou  that  dost  inhabit  in  my  breast, 
Leave  not  the  mansion  so  long  tenantless, 
Lest,  growing  ruinous,  the  building  fall 
And  leave  no  memory  of  what  it  was ! 
Repair  me  with  thy  presence,  Silvia ; 

Thou  gentle  nymph,  cherish  thy  forlorn  swain  ! 

LOVE   UNRETURNED. 

What  dangerous  action,  stood  it  next  to  death, 
Would  I  not  undergo  for  one  calm  look ! 
O,  'tis  the  curse  in  love,  and  still  approved, * 
When  women  cannot  love  where  they  're  beloved. 

INFIDELITY   IN   A   FRIEND. 

Who  should  be  trusted,  when  one's  own  right  hand 
Is  perjured  to  the  bosom?     Proteus, 

1  am  sorry  I  must  never  trust  thee  more. 
But  count  the  world  a  stranger  for  thy  sake. 
The  private  wound  is  deepest. 

REPENTANCE. 

Who  by  repentance  is  not  satisfied, 
Is  nor  of  heaven  nor  earth. 


INCONSTANCY   IN   MAN. 

Proteus.     How  !    Julia  ! 

Julia.     Behold  her  that  gave  aim  to  all  thy  oaths, 

*  Felt,  experienced. 


128  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

And  entertain -d  'em  deeply  in  her  heart. 
How  oft  hast  thou  with  perjury  cleft  the  root ! 
O  Proteus,  let  this  habit  make  thee  blush ! 
Be  thou  ashamed  that  I  have  took  upon  me 
Such  an  immodest  raiment,  if  shame  live 
In  a  disguise  of  love : 
It  is  the  lesser  blot,  modesty  finds. 
Women   to    change    their   shapes   than    men    their 
minds. 

Pro.    Than  men  their  minds  !  't  is  true.    O  heaven  ! 
were  man 
But  constant,  he  were  perfect.     That  one  error 
Fills  him  with  faults ;  makes  him  run  through  all  the 

sins: 
Inconstancy  falls  off,  ere  it  begins. 


THE   WINTER'S   TALE. 
ACT  I. 

YOUTHFUL    INNOCENCE. 

We  were,  fair  queen, 
Two  lads  that  thought  there  was  no  more  behind, 
But  such  a  day  to-morrow  as  to-day, 
And  to  be  boy  eternal. 

We  were  as  twinn'd  lambs,  that  did  frisk  i'  the  sun. 
And  bleat  the  one  at  the  other :  what  we  changed 
Was  innocence  for  innocence ;  we  knew  not 
The  doctrine  of  ill-doing,  nor  dream'd 
That  any  did.     Had  we  pursued  that  life. 
And  our  weak  spirits  ne'er  been  higher  reared 
With    stronger   blood,    we    should    have    answer'd 

heaven 
Boldly  *  Not  Guilty ; '  the  imposition  clear'd, 
Hereditary  ours.' 

FONDNESS    OF   A    FATHER    FOR    HIS    CHILD. 

Leontes.     Are  you  so  fond  of  your  young  prince 
as  we 
Do  seem  to  be  of  ours? 

1  Setting  aside  original  sin. 


1 30  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


THE  CHILD  THE  FATHER  OF  THE  MAN. 

Leontes.  Looking  on  the  lines 

Of  my  boy's  face,  methought  I  did  recoil 
Twenty-three  years,  and  saw  myself  unbreech'd, 
In  my  green  velvet  coat,  my  dagger  muzzled, 
Lest  it  should  bite  its  master,  and  so  prove, 
As  ornaments  oft  do,  too  dangerous : 
How  like,  methought,  I  then  was  to  this  kernel. 
This  squash,  this  gentleman. 

Polixenes.    If  at  home,  sir. 
He 's  all  my  exercise,  my  mirth,  my  matter. 
Now  my  sworn  friend  and  then  mine  enemy, 
My  parasite,  my  soldier,  statesman,  all : 
He  makes  a  July's  day  short  as  December, 
And  with  his  varying  childness  cures  in  me 
Thoughts  that  would  thick  my  blood. 

JEALOUSY. 

Is  whispering  nothing? 
Is  leaning  cheek  to  cheek?  is  meeting  noses? 
Kissing  with  inside  lip  ?  stopping  the  career 
Of  laughter  with  a  sigh  !  —  a  note  infallible 
Of  breaking  honesty  —  horsing  foot  on  foot  ? 
Skulking  in  corners?  wishing  clocks  more  swift? 
Hours,  minutes?  noon,  midnight?  and  all  eyes 
Blind  with  the  pin  and  web  *  but  theirs,  theirs  only, 
That  would  unseen  be  wicked?  is  this  nothing? 
Why,  then  the  world,  and  all  that 's  in 't,  is  nothing ; 

*  Disorders  of  the  eye. 


The  Winter's  Tale.  131 

The  covering  sky  is  nothing ;   Bohemia  nothing  ; 
My  wife  is  nothing ;  nor  nothing  have  these  nothings, 
If  this  be  nothing. 


REGICIDES    DETESTABLE. 

To  do  this  deed, 
Promotion  follows.     If  I  could  find  example 
Of  thousands  that  had  struck  anointed  kings 
And  flourished  after,  I  'Id  not  do 't ;  but  since 
Nor  brass  nor  stone  nor  parchment  bears  not  one, 
Let  villany  itself  forswear 't. 


ACT    II. 

KNOWLEDGE   SOMETIMES    HURTFUL. 

There  may  be  in  the  cup 
A  spider  ^  steep'd,  and  one  may  drink,  depart. 
And  yet  partake  no  venom,  for  his  knowledge 
Is  not  infected :  but  if  one  present 
The  abhorred  ingredient  to  his  eye,  make  known 
How  he  hath  drunk,  he  cracks  his  gorge,  his  sides. 
With  violent  hefts. 2 


SORROW  TOO  DEEP  FOR  TEARS. 

Good  my  lords, 
I  am  not  prone  to  weeping,  as  our  sex 

1  Spiders  were  esteemed  poisonous  in  our  author's  time. 

2  Heavings. 


132  Beauties  of  Shahspeare. 

Commonly  are  ;  the  want  of  which  vain  dew 
Perchance  shall  dry  your  pities  :  but  I  have 
That  honourable  grief  lodg'd  here  which  burns 
Worse  than  tears  drown. 


ELOQUENCE   OF    SILENT    INNOCENCE. 

The  silence  often  of  pure  innocence 
Persuades,  when  speaking  fails. 

FAMILY     RESEMBLANCE. 

Behold,  my  lords, 
Although  the  print  be  little,  the  whole  matter 
And  copy  of  the  father,  eye,  nose,  lip. 
The  trick  of 's  frown,  his  forehead,  nay,  the  valley, 
The  pretty  dimples  of  his  chin  and  cheek, 
His  smiles. 
The  very  mould  and  frame  of  hand,  nail,  finger. 

EXPOSING   AN   INFANT. 

Com*  on,  poor  babe  : 
Some  powerful  spirit  instruct  the  kites  and  ravens 
To  be  thy  nurses  !     Wolves  and  bears,  they  say, 
Casting  their  savageness  aside  have  done 
Like  offices  of  pity. 


The  Winter's  Tale.  133 

ACT  III. 

INNOCENCE. 

If  powers  divine 
Behold  our  human  actions,  as  they  do, 
I  doubt  not  then  but  innocence  shall  make 
False  accusation  blush  and  tyranny 
Tremble  at  patience. 

DESPAIR   OF   PARDON. 

But,  O  thou  tyrant ! 
Do  not  repent  these  things,  for  they  are  heavier 
Than  all  thy  woes  can  stir :  therefore  betake  thee 
To  nothing  but  despair.     A  thousand  knees 
Ten  thousand  years  together,  naked,  fasting, 
Upon  a  barren  mountain,  and  still  winter 
In  storm  perpetual,  could  not  move  the  gods 
To  look  that  way  thou  wert. 

DESCRIPTION   OF   A   GHOST   APPEARING   IN  A  DREAM. 

I  have  heard,  but  not  believed,  the  spirits  o'  the  dead 
May  walk  again :  if  such  thing  be,  thy  mother 
Appear^  to  me  last  night,  for  ne'er  was  dream 
So  like  a  waking.     To  me  comes  a  creature. 
Sometimes  her  head  on  one  side,  some  another; 
I  never  saw  a  vessel  of  like  sorrow, 
So  fiird,  and  so  becoming :  in  pure  white  robes, 
Like  very  sanctity,  she  did  approach 


134  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

My  cabin  where  I  lay ;  thrice  bow'd  before  me, 

And  gasping  to  begin  some  speech,  her  eyes 

Became  two  spouts  :  the  fury  spent,  anon 

Did  this  break  from  her :   *  Good  Antigonus, 

Since  fate,  against  thy  better  disposition. 

Hath  made  thy  person  for  the  thrower-out 

Of  my  poor  babe,  according  to  thine  oath. 

Places  remote  enough  are  in  Bohemia, 

There  weep  and  leave  it  crying ;  and,  for  the  babe 

Is  counted  lost  for  ever,  Perdita, 

I  prithee,  call 't ;  for  this  ungentle  business. 

Put  on  thee  by  my  lord,  thou  ne'er  shalt  see 

Thy  wife  Paulina  more.'     And  so,  with  shrieks 

She  melted  into  air.     Affrighted  much, 

I  did  in  time  collect  myself  and  thought 

This  was  so  and  no  slumber.     Dreams  are  toys : 

Yet  for  this  once,  yea,  superstitiously, 

I  will  be  squared  by  this. 

THE   INFANT    EXPOSED. 

Poor  wretch, 
That  for  thy  mother's  fault  art  thus  exposed 
To  loss  and  what  may  follow  !     Weep  I  cannot, 
But  my  heart  bleeds ;  and  most  accursed  am  I 
To  be  by  oath  enjoin'd  to  this.     Farewell ! 
The  day  frowns  more  and  more  ;  thou  'rt  like  to  have 
A  lullaby  too  rough. 


The  Winter's   Tale,  135 

A  clown's  description  of  a  wreck. 

I  would  you  did  but  see  how  it  chafes,  how  it 
rages,  how  it  takes  up  the  shore !  but  that 's  not  to 
the  point.  O,  the  most  piteous  cry  of  the  poor 
souls  !  sometimes  to  see  'em,  and  not  to  see  'em ; 
now  the  ship  boring  the  moon  with  her  main-mast, 
and  anon  swallowed  with  yest  and  froth,  as  you  'Id 
thrust  a  cork  into  a  hogshead.  And  then  for  the 
land  service,  to  see  how  the  bear  tore  out  his  shoul- 
der-bone ;  how  he  cried  to  me  for  help  and  said  his 
name  was  Antigonus,  a  nobleman.  But  to  make  an 
end  of  the  ship,  to  see  how  the  sea  flap-dragoned  ^ 
it :  but,  first,  how  the  poor  souls  roared,  and  the  sea 
mocked  them ;  and  how  the  poor  gentleman  roared 
and  the  bear  mocked  him,  both  roaring  louder  than 
the  sea  or  weather. 


ACT    IV. 

A    GARLAND    FOR    OLD   MEN. 

Reverend  sirs, 
For  you  there  's  rosemary  and  rue  ;  these  keep 
Seeming  and  savour  ^  all  the  winter  long ; 
Grace  and  remembrance  be  to  you  both, 
And  welcome  to  our  shearing ! 

1  Swallowed.  »  Likeness  and  smell. 


136  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 


NATURE   AND    ART. 

Perdita.  Sir,  the  year  growing  ancient, 

Not  yet  on  summer's  death,  nor  on  the  birth 
Of  trembling  winter,  the  fairest  flowers  o'  the  season 
Are  our  carnations  and  streaked  gillyvors, 
Which  some  call  nature's  bastards :   of  that  kind 
Our  rustic  garden  's  barren ;  and  I  care  not 
To  get  slips  of  them. 

Polixenes,  Wherefore,  gentle  maiden. 

Do  you  neglect  them? 

Per.  For  ^  I  have  heard  it  said 

There  is  an  art  which  in  their  piedness  shares 
With  great  creating  nature. 

Pol.  Say,  there  be  ; 

Yet  nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean 
But  nature  makes  that  mean :   so,  over  that  art 
Which  you  say  adds  to  nature,  is  an  art 
That  nature  makes.     You  see,  sweet  maid,  we  marry 
A  gentler  scion  to  the  wildest  stock ; 
And  make  conceive  a  bark  of  baser  kind 
By  bud  of  nobler  race  :  this  is  an  art 
Which  does  mend  nature,  change  it  rather,  but 
The  art  itself  is  nature. 

Perdita.     So  it  is. 

A   GARLAND   FOR    MIDDLE-AGED    MEN. 

I  ni  not  put 
The  dibble  ^  in  earth  to  set  one  slip  of  them ; 

1  Because.  ■  A  tool  to  set  plants. 


The  Winter's   Tale,  137 

No  more  than,  were  I  painted  I  would  wish 
This  youth  should  say  't  were  well  and  only  therefore 
Desire  to  breed  by  me.     Here 's  flowers  for  you  ; 
Hot  lavender,  mints,  savory,  marjoram ; 
The  marigold  that  goes  to  bed  wi'  the  sun 
And  with  him  rises  weeping :   these  are  flowers 
Of  middle  summer,  and  I  think  they  are  given 
To  men  of  middle  age. 

A   GARLAND   FOR    YOUNG   MEN. 

Camillo.     I  should  leave  grazing,  were  I   of  your 
flock. 
And  only  live  by  gazing. 

Perdita.     Out,  alas  ! 
You  Ud  be  so  lean,  that  blasts  of  January 
Would  blow   you  through  and  through.     Now,  my 

fair'st  friend, 
I  would  I  had  some  flowers  o'  the  spring  that  might 
Become  your  time  of  day ;   and  yours,  and  yours. 
That  wear  upon  your  virgin  branches  yet 
Your  maidenheads  growing  :    O  Proserpina, 
For  the  flowers  now,  that,  frighted,  thou  let'st  fall 
From  Dis's  ^  waggon  !  daffodils. 
That  come  before  the  swallow  dares,  and  take 
The  winds  of  March  with  beauty ;   violets  dim. 
But  sweeter  than  the  lids  of  Juno's  eyes, 
Or  Cytherea's  breath ;  pale  primroses. 
That  die  unmarried,  ere  they  can  behold 

1  Pluto. 


138  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Bright  Phoebus  in  his  strength  —  a  malady 
Most  incident  to  maids  ;  bold  oxlips  and 
The  crown  imperial ;   lilies  of  all  kinds, 
The  flower-de-luce  being  one  !     O,  these  I  lack, 
To  make  you  garlands  of,  and  my  sweet  friend, 
To  strew  him  o^er  and  o'er. 

A  lover's  commendation. 

What  you  do, 
Still  betters  what  is  done.     When  you  speak,  sweet, 
I  'Id  have  you  do  it  ever :   when  you  sing, 
I  'Id  have  you  buy  and  sell  so,  so  give  alms. 
Pray  so,  and,  for  the  ordering  your  affairs. 
To  sing  them  too :  when  you  do  dance,  I  wish  you 
A  wave  o'  the  sea,  that  you  might  ever  do 
Nothing  but  that ;  move  still,  still  so. 
And  own  no  other  function :  each  your  doing, 
So  singular  in  each  particular. 
Crowns  what  you  are  doing  in  the  present  deed, 
That  all  your  acts  are  queens. 

A    PRETTY    LASS. 

Polixenes.     This  is  the  prettiest  low-born  lass  that 
ever 
Ran  on  the  green-sward :   nothing  she  does  or  seems 
But  smacks  of  something  greater  than  herself, 
Too  noble  for  this  place. 

CafHillo.  He  tells  her  something 

That  makes  her  blood  look  out :  good  sooth,  she  is 
The  queen  of  curds  and  cream. 


The  Winter's  Tale,  139 


TRUE   LOVE. 

He  says  he  loves  my  daughter : 
I  think  so  too ;  for  never  gaz'd  the  moon 
Upon  the  water  as  he  '11  stand  and  read 
As 't  were  my  daughter's  eyes :  and,  to  be  plain, 
I  think,  there  is  not  half  a  kiss  to  choose, 
Who  loves  another  best. 


PRESENTS   LIGHTLY   REGARDED    BY   REAL   LOVERS. 

Polixenes.     How  now,  fair  shepherd, 
Your  heart  is  full  of  something,  that  does  take 
Your  mind  from  feasting.     Sooth,  when  I  was  young 
And  handed  love  as  you  do,  I  was  wont 
To  load  my  she  with  knacks :  I  would  have  ransack'd 
The  pedlar's  silken  treasury  and  have  pour'd  it 
To  her  acceptance ;  you  have  let  him  go. 
And  nothing  marted  ^  with  him.     If  your  lass 
Interpretation  should  abuse  and  call  this 
Your  lack  of  love  or  bounty,   you  were  straited  ^ 
For  a  reply,  at  least  if  you  make  a  care 
Of  happy  holding  her. 

Florizel.  Old  sir,  I  know 

She  prizes  not  such  trifles  as  these  are : 
The  gifts  she  looks  from  me  are  pack'd  and  lock'd 
Up  in  my  heart ;    which  I  have  given  already, 
But  not  deliver'd.     O,  hear  me  breathe  my  life 
Before  this  ancient  sir,  who,  it  should  seem, 

1  Bought,  trafficked.  2  Put  to  difficulties. 


140  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Hath  sometime  loved  !     I  take  thy  hand,  this  hand, 

As  soft  as  dove's  down  and  as  white  as  it, 

Or    Ethiopian's   tooth,    or   the   fanned    snow    tliat 's 

bolted  ' 
By  the  northern  blasts  twice  o'er. 


THE   WORTH    OF   LOVE. 

Were  I  crown'd  the  most  imperial  monarch 
Thereof  most  worthy,  were  I  the  fairest  youth 
That  ever  made  eye  swerve,  had  force  and  knowledge 
More  than  was  ever  man's,  I  would  not  prize  them 
Without  her  love  ;  for  her  employ  them  all ; 
Commend  them  and  condemn  them  to  her  service 
Or  to  their  own  perdition. 

A   FATHER   THE    BEST  GUEST  AT  HIS  SON'S  NUPTIALS. 

Polixenes.         Methinks  a  father 
Is  at  the  nuptial  of  his  son  a  guest 
That  best  becomes  the  table.     Pray  you  once  more, 
Is  not  your  father  grown  incapable 
Of  reasonable  affairs  ?  is  he  not  stupid 
With  age  and  altering  rheums?  Can  he  speak?  hear? 
Know  man  from  man?  dispute  his  own  estate ?'^ 
Lies  he  not  bed-rid?  and  again  does  nothing. 
But  what  he  did  being  childish? 

Florizel.  No,  good  sir ; 

1  The  sieve  used  to  separate  flour  from  bran  is  called  a  bolting- 
cloth. 
*Talk  over  his  affairs. 


The  Winter's   Tale,  141 

He  has  his  health  and  ampler  strength  indeed 
Than  most  have  of  his  age. 

Pol.  By  my  white  beard, 

You  offer  him,  if  this  be  so,  a  wrong 
Something  unfilial :  reason  my  son, 
Should  choose  himself  a  wife,  but  as  good  reason. 
The  father,  all  whose  joy  is  nothing  else 
But  fair  posterity,  should  hold  some  counsel 
In  such  a  business. 


RURAL    SIMPLICITY. 

I  was  not  much  afeard ;  for  once  or  twice 
I  was  about  to  speak  and  tell  him  plainly. 
The  selfsame  sun  that  shines  upon  his  court, 
Hides  not  his  visage  from  our  cottage  but 
Looks  on  alike. 

LOVE    CEMENTED    BY    PROSPERITY,     BUT    LOOSENED 
BY   ADVERSITY. 

Prosperity 's  the  very  bond  of  love. 

Whose  fresh  complexion  and  whose  heart  together 

Affliction  alters. 


ACT  V. 

WONDER   PROCEEDING   FROM    SUDDEN   JOY. 

There  was  speech  in  their  dumbness,  language  in 
their  very  gesture ;  they  looked  as  they  had  heard  of 
a  world  ransomed,  or  one  destroyed :  a  notable  pas- 


142  Beauties  of  Shahspeare. 

sion  of  wonder  appeared  in  them  ;  but  the  wisest  be- 
holder, that  knew  no  more  but  seeing,  could  not  say 
if  the  importance  ^  were  joy  or  sorrow :  but  in  the 
extremity  of  the  one,  it  must  needs  be. 

A   STATUE. 

Leontes.    What  was   he  that  did  make  it?     See, 
my  lord. 
Would  you  not  deem  it  breathed?    and  that  those 

veins 
Did  verily  bear  blood  ? 

Polixenes.  Masterly  done  : 

The  very  life  seems  warm  upon  her  lip. 

Leon.     The  fixture  of  her  eye  has  motion  in't.* 
As  ^  we  are  mock'd  with  art. 
Still,  methinks 

There  is  an  air  comes  from  her :  what  fine  chisel 
Could  ever  yet  cut  breath  ?     Let  no  man  mock  me, 
For  I  will  kiss  her. 

A   WIDOW   COMPARED   TO   A    TURTLE-DOVE. 

I,  an  old  turtle. 
Will  wing  me  to  some  wither'd  bough  and  there 
My  mate,  that 's  never  to  be  found  again, 
Lament  till  I  am  lost. 

iThe  thing  imported. 

»  i.e.  Though  her  eye  be  fixed,  it  seems  to  have  motion  in  it. 
•8  As  if. 


PART   II. 


HISTORICAL     PLAYS 


CHRONOLOGICALLY    ARRANGED. 


HISTORICAL     PLAYS. 


KING  JOHN. 
ACT    I. 

NEW   TITLES. 

'  Good  den/  Sir  Richard,' — '  God-a-mercy,  fellow  ! 

And  if  his  name  be  George,  I  '11  call  him  Peter : 

For  new-made  honour  doth  forget  men's  names ; 

'T  is  too  respective  ^  and  too  sociable. 

For  your  conversion.^     Now  your  traveller, 

He  and  his  toothpick  at  my  worship's  mess. 

And  when  my  knightly  stomach  is  sufficed. 

Why  then  I  suck  my  teeth  and  catechize 

My  picked  man  of  countries :  ''  '  My  dear  sir,' 

Thus  leaning  on  mine  elbow,  I  begin, 

'  I  shall  beseech  you '  —  that  is  question  now  : 

And  then  comes  answer  like  an  Absey  book :  ^ 

'  O  sir,'  says  answer,  ♦  at  your  best  command ; 

At  your  employment ;  at  your  service,  sir.' 

*  No,  sir,'  says  question,  '  I,  sweet  sir,  at  yours  : ' 

1  Good  evening.  *  Respectable. 

3  Change  of  condition.  *  My  travelled  fop. 

6  Catechism. 


146  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

And  so,  ere  answer  knows  what  question  would, 

Saving  in  dialogue  of  compliment ; 

And  talking  of  the  Alps  and  Apennines, 

The  Pyrenean,  and  the  river  Po, 

It  draws  toward  supper  in  conclusion  so. 

But  this  is  worshipful  society 

And  fij:s  the  mounting  spirit,  like  myself, 

For  he  is  but  a  bastard  to  the  time. 

That  doth  not  smack  of  observation. 


ACT    II. 

DESCRIPTION   OF   ENGLAND. 

I  will  no  more  return. 
Till  Anglers  and  the  right  thou  hast  in  France, 
Together  with  that  pale,  that  white-faced  shore. 
Whose  foot  spurns  back  the  ocean's  roaring  tides. 
And  coops  from  other  lands  her  islanders, 
Even  till  that  England,  hedged  in  with  the  main, 
That  water- walled  bulwark,  still  secure 
And  confident  from  foreign  purposes. 
Even  till  that  utmost  corner  of  the  west 
Salute  thee  for  her  king. 

DESCRIPTION   OF   AN   ENGLISH   ARMY. 

His  marches  are  expedient  >  to  this  town, 
His  forces  strong,  his  soldiers  confident. 
With  him  along  is  come  the  mother-queen, 

1  Immediate,  expeditious. 


King  John,  147 

An  Ate,'  stirring  him  to  blood  and  strife; 
With  her  her  niece,  the  Lady  Blanch  of  Spain ; 
With  them  a  bastard  of  the  king's  deceased ; 
And  all  the  unsettled  humours  of  the  land, 
Rash,  inconsiderate,  fiery  voluntaries, 
With  ladies'  faces,  and  fierce  dragons'  spleens. 
Have  sold  their  fortunes  at  their  native  homes. 
Bearing  their  birthrights  proudly  on  their  backs, 
To  make  a  hazard  of  new  fortunes  here  : 
In  brief,  a  braver  choice  of  dauntless  spirits. 
Than  now  the  English  bottoms  have  waft  o'er 
Did  never  float  upon  the  swelling  tide. 
To  do  offence  and  scath^  in  Christendom. 
The  interruption  of  their  churlish  drums 
Cuts  off  more  circumstance :  they  are  at  hand, 
To  parley  or  to  fight. 

COURAGE. 

King  Philip.     How  much  unlook'd  for  is  this  ex- 
pedition ! 

Austria.     By  how  much  unexpected,  by  so  much 
We  must  awake  endeavour  for  defence ; 
For  courage  mounteth  with  occasion. 

A    BOASTER. 

What  cracker  is  this  same  that  deafs  our  ears 
With  this  abundance  of  superfluous  breath  ? 

1  The  Goddess  of  Revenge. 
'  Mischief. 


148  Beauties  of  Shahspeare. 


DESCRIPTION   OF   VICTORY    BY  THE  FRENCH  HERALD. 

You  men  of  Angiers,  open  wide  your  gates, 
And  let  young  Arthur,  Duke  of  Bretagne,  in, 
Who,  by  the  hand  of  France  this  day  hath  made 
Much  work  for  tears  in  many  an  English  mother, 
Whose  sons  lie  scattered  on  the  bleeding  ground ; 
Many  a  widow's  husband  grovelling  lies, 
Coldly  embracing  the  discoloured  earth  ; 
And  victory,  with  little  loss,  doth  play 
Upon  the  dancing  banners  of  the  French, 
Who  are  at  hand,  triumphantly  displayed, 
To  enter  conquerors,  and  to  proclaim 
Arthur  of  Bretagne  England's  king  and  yours. 

VICTORY   DESCRIBED    BY   THE    ENGLISH    HERALD. 

Rejoice,  you  men  of  Angiers,  ring  your  bells ; 

King  John,  your  king  and  England's,  doth  approach, 

Commander  of  this  hot  malicious  day  : 

Their  armours,  that  march'd  hence  so  silver-bright. 

Hither  return  all  gilt  with  Frenchmen's  blood ; 

There  stucjc  no  plume  in  any  English  crest 

That  is  removed  by  a  staff  of  France ; 

Our  colours  do  return  in  those  same  hands 

That  did  display  them  when  we  first  march'd  forth  ; 

And,  like  a  jolly  troop  of  huntsmen,  come 

Our  lusty  English,  all  with  purpled  hands, 

Dyed  in  the  dying  slaughter  of  their  foes  : 

Open  your  gates  and  give  the  victors  way. 


King  John,  149 


A   COMPLETE   LADY. 

If  lusty  love  should  go  in  quest  of  beauty, 
Where  should  he  find  it  fairer  than  in  Blanch  ? 
If  zealous  ^  love  should  go  in  search  of  virtue, 
Where  should  he  find  it  purer  than  in  Blanch? 
If  love  ambitious  sought  a  match  of  birth, 
Whose  veins  bound  richer  blood  than  lady  Blanch? 

POWERFUL   EFFECTS    OF    SELF-INTEREST. 

Rounded  2  in  the  ear 
With  that  same  purpose-changer,  that  sly  devil. 
That  broker,  that  still  breaks  the  pate  of  faith. 
That  daily  break-vow,  he  that  wins  of  all. 
Of  kings,  of  beggars,  old  men,  young  men,  maids, 
Who  having  no  external  thing  to  lose 
But  the  word  *  maid,'  cheats  the  poor  maid  of  that. 
That  smooth-faced  gentleman,  tickling  Commodity, 
Commodity,  the  bias  of  the  world. 
The  world,  who  of  itself  is  peised  "*  well, 
Made  to  run  even  upon  even  ground, 
Till  this  advantage,  this  vile-drawing  bias. 
This  sway  of  motion,  this  Commodity, 
Makes  it  take  head  from  all  indifferency. 
From  all  direction,  purpose,  course,  intent : 
And  this  same  bias,  this  Commodity, 
This  bawd ,  this  broker,  this  all-changing  word 
Clapp'd  on  the  outward  eye  of  fickle  France, 

1  Pious.  2  Conspired. 

8  Interest.  *  Poised,  balanced* 


150  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Hath  drawn  him  from  his  own  determined  aid, 
From  a  resolved  and  honourable  war, 
To  a  most  base  and  vile-concluded  peace. 


ACT   III. 

A  woman's  fears. 

Thou  shalt  be  punishM  for  thus  frighting  me, 

For  I  am  sick  and  capable  ^  of  fears, 

Oppress'd  with  wrongs  and  therefore  full  of  fears, 

A  widow,  husbandless,  subject  to  fears, 

A  woman,  naturally  born  to  fears ; 

And  though  thou  now  confess  thou  didst  but  jest, 

With  my  vex'd  spirits  I  cannot  take  a  truce. 

But  they  will  quake  and  tremble  all  this  day. 

TOKENS   OF   GRIEF. 

What  dost  thou  mean  by  shaking  of  thy  head? 
Why  dost  thou  look  so  sadly  on  my  son? 
What  means  that  hand  upon  that  breast  of  thine? 
Why  holds  thine  eye  that  lamentable  rheum. 
Like  a  proud  river  peering' o'er  his  bounds? 
Be  these  sad  signs  confirmers  of  thy  words? 
Then  speak  again  ;  not  all  thy  former  tale. 
But  this  one  word,  whether  thy  tale  be  true. 

»  Susceptible. 


King  John.  151 


A  mother's   fondness   for  a  beautiful    child. 

Arthur :   I  do  beseech  you,  madam,  be  content. 

Constance:     If  thou,  that    bid'st  me  be  content, 
wert  grim 
Ugly  and  slanderous  to  thy  mother's  womb. 
Full  of  unpleasing  blots  and  sightless  ^  stains, 
Lame,  foolish,  crooked,  swart,  prodigious,^ 
Patch'd  with  foul  moles  and  eye-offending  marks, 
I  would  not  care,  I  then  would  be  content ; 
For  then  I  should  not  love  thee,  no,  nor  thou 
Become  thy  great  birth  nor  deserve  a  crown. 
But  thou  art  fair,  and  at  thy  birth,  dear  boy, 
Nature  and  Fortune  join'd  to  make  thee  great ; 
Of  Nature's  gifts  thou  mayst  with  lilies  boast, 
And  with  the  half-blown  rose. 

GRIEF. 

I  will  instruct  my  sorrows  to  be  proud ; 

For  grief  is  proud  and  makes  his  owner  stoop. 

COWARDICE   AND   PERJURY. 

O  Lymoges  !  O  Austria  !  thou  dost  shame 

That    bloody  spoil :  thou   slave,   thou  wretch,  thou 

coward  ! 
Thou  little  valiant,  great  in  villany  ! 
Thou  ever  strong  upon  the  stronger  side  ! 
Thou  Fortune's  champion  that  dost  never  fight 

1  Unsightly.  2  Portentous. 


152  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

But  when  her  humorous  ladyship  is  by 

To  teach  thee  safety  !  thou  art  perjured  too, 

And  soothest  up  greatness.     What  a  fool  art  thou, 

A  ramping  fool,  to  brag  and  stamp  and  swear 

Upon  my  party  !     Thou  cold-blooded  slave. 

Hast  thou  not  spoke  like  thunder  on  my  side, 

Been  sworn  my  soldier,  bidding  me  depend 

Upon  thy  stars,  thy  fortune  and  thy  strength. 

And  dost  thou  now  fall  over  to  my  foes? 

Thou  wear  a  lion's  hide  !  doff  ^  it  for  shame. 

And  hang  a  calf's-skin  on  those  recreant  limbs. 


THE    HORRORS    OF   A    CONSPIRACY. 

I  had  a  thing  to  say,  but  let  it  go : 

The  sun  is  in  the  heaven,  and  the  proud  day, 

Attended  with  the  pleasures  of  the  world. 

Is  all  too  wanton  and  too  full  of  gawds  ^ 

To  give  me  audience  :  if  the  midnight  bell 

Did,  with  his  iron  tongue  and  brazen  mouth, 

Sound  one  unto  the  drowsy  race  of  night ; 

If  this  same  were  a  church-yard  where  we  stand, 

And  thou  possessed  with  a  thousand  wrongs. 

Or  if  that  surly  spirit,  melancholy. 

Had  baked  thy  blood,  and  made  it  heavy-thick 

Which  else  runs  tickling  up  and  down  the  veins, 

Making  that  idiot,  laughter,  keep  men's  eyes, 

And  strain  their  cheeks  to  idle  merriment, 

A  passion  hateful  to  my  purposes, 

1  Do  off.  *  Showy  ornaments. 


King  John.  153 

Or  if  that  thou  couldst  see  me  without  eyes, 
Hear  me  without  thine  ears  and  make  reply 
Without  a  tongue,  using  conceit "  alone. 
Without  eyes,  ears,  and  harmful  sound  of  words ; 
Then,  in  despite  of  brooded  watchful  day, 
I  would  into  thy  bosom  pour  my  thoughts : 
But,  ah,  I  will  not. 


APOSTROPHE    TO    DEATH. 

0  amiable  lovely  death  ! 
Thou  odoriferous  stench  !  sound  rottenness  ! 
Arise  forth  from  the  couch  of  lasting  night, 
Thou  hate  and  terror  to  prosperity. 

And  I  will  kiss  thy  detestable  bones 

And  put  my  eye-balls  in  thy  vanity  brows 

And  ring  these  fingers  with  thy  household  worms 

And  stop  this  gap  of  breath  with  fulsome  dust 

And  be  a  carrion  monster  like  thyself: 

Come,  grin  on  me,  and  I  will  think  thou  smilest 

And  buss  thee  as  thy  wife  !     Misery's  love, 

O,  come  to  me  ! 

A  mother's  ravings. 

I  am  not  mad :  this  hair  I  tear  is  mine ; 
My  name  is  Constance  ;  I  was  Geffrey's  wife  ; 
Young  Arthur  is  my  son,  and  he  is  lost : 
I  am  not  mad ;  I  would  to  heaven  I  were  ! 
For  then,  't  is  like  I  should  forget  myself: 

1  Conception. 


154  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

O,  if  I  could,  what  grief  should  I  forget ! 
Preach  some  philosophy  to  make  me  mad, 
And  thou  shalt  be  canonized,  cardinal ; 
For  being  not  mad  but  sensible  of  grief, 
My  reasonable  part  produces  reason 
How  I  may  be  deliver'd  of  these  woes. 
And  teaches  me  to  kill  or  hang  myself: 
If  I  were  mad  I  should  forget  my  son ; 
Or  madly  think  a  babe  of  clouts  were  he : 
I  am  not  mad :  too  well,  too  well  I  feel 
The  different  plague  of  each  calamity. 

A  mother's  grief  for  the  loss  of  a  son. 

Constance :  Father  cardinal,  I  have  heard  you  say 
That  we  shall  see  and  know  our  friends  in  heaven : 
If  that  be  true,  I  shall  see  my  boy  again ; 
For  since  the  birth  of  Cain,  the  first  male  child, 
To  him  that  did  but  yesterday  suspire,^ 
There  was  not  such  a  gracious  ^  creature  born. 
But  now  will  canker  sorrow  eat  my  bud. 
And  chase  the  native  beauty  from  his  cheek 
And  he  will  look  as  hollow  as  a  ghost. 
As  dim  and  meagre  as  an  ague's  fit, 
And  so  he  '11  die ;   and,  rising  so  again, 
When  I  shall  meet  him  in  the  court  of  heaven 
I  shall  not  know  him ;  therefore  never,  never 
Must  I  behold  my  pretty  Arthur  more. 

Pandulph.     You  hold    too   heinous  a  respect   of 
grief. 

»  Breathe.  »  Graceful. 


King  John.  155 

Const.     He  talks  to  me  that  never  had  a  son. 

Kmg  Philip.     You  are  as  fond  of  grief  as  of  your 
child. 

Const.     Grief  fills  the  room  up  of  my  absent  child, 
Lies  in  his  bed,  walks  up  and  down  with  me. 
Puts  on  his  pretty  looks,  repeats  his  words. 
Remembers  me  of  all  his  gracious  parts, 
Stuffs  out  his  vacant  garments  with  his  form ; 
Then,  have  I  reason  to  be  fond  of  grief ! 

DESPONDENCY. 

There  's  nothing  in  this  world  can  make  me  joy :  ' 
Life  is  as  tedious  as  a  twice-told  tale. 
Vexing  the  dull  ear  of  a  drowsy  man. 

STRENGTH    OF    DEPARTING   DISEASES. 

Before  the  curing  of  a  strong  disease, 
Even  in  the  instant  of  repair  and  health. 
The  fit  is  strongest ;   evils  that  take  leave. 
On  their  departure  most  of  all  show  evil. 

DANGER  TAKES  HOLD  OF  ANY  SUPPORT. 

He  that  stands  upon  a  slippery  place 
Makes  nice  of  no  vile  hold  to  stay  him  up. 


156  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


ACT   IV. 

ARTHUR'S    PATHETIC    SPEECHES    TO    HUBERT. 

Arthur.     Methinks,  no  body  should  be  sad  but  I : 
Yet,  I  remember,  when  I  was  in  France, 
Young  gentlemen  would  be  as  sad  as  night, 
Only  for  wantonness.     By  my  Christendom, 
So  I  were  out  of  prison  and  kept  sheep, 
I  should  be  as  merry  as  the  day  is  long. 

Must  you  with  hot  irons  burn  out  both  mine  eyes  ? 

Hubert.     Young  boy,  I  must. 

Arthur.     And  will  you? 

Hubert.     And  I  will. 

Arthur.     Have  you  the  heart?     When  your  head 
did  but  ache, 
I  knit  my  handkercher  about  your  brows, 
The  best  I  had,  a  princess  wrought  it  me, 
And  I  did  never  ask  it  you  again ; 
And  with  my  hand  at  midnight  held  your  head. 
And,  like  the  watchful  minutes  to  the  hour, 
Still  and  anon  cheer'd  up  the  heavy  time ; 
Saying,  *  What  lack  you  ? '    and  *  Where   lies  your 

grief  ?  ' 
Or,  '  What  good  love  may  I  perform  for  you  ?  ' 
Many  a  poor  man's  son  would  have  lien  still, 
And  ne'er  have  spoke  a  loving  word  to  you ; 
But  you  at  your  sick  service  had  a  prince. 
Nay,  you  may  think  my  love  was  crafty  love 


King  John.  157 

And  call  it  cunning :  do,  an  if  you  will : 

If  heaven  be  pleased  that  you  must  use  me  ill, 

Why,  then  you  must.     Will  you  put  out  mine  eyes? 

These  eyes,  that  never  did  nor  never  shall 

So  much  as  frown  on  you? 

Alas,  what  need  you  be  so  boisterous-rough? 

I  will  not  struggle,  I  will  stand  stone-still. 

For  heaven's  sake,  Hubert,  let  me  not  be  bound ! 

Nay,  hear  me,  Hubert !  drive  these  men  away, 

And  I  will  sit  as  quiet  as  a  lamb ; 

I  will  not  stir,  nor  wince,  nor  speak  a  word. 

Nor  look  upon  the  iron  angerly : 

Thrust  but  these  men  away,  and  I  '11  forgive  you, 

Whatever  torment  you  do  put  me  to. 

Is  there  no  remedy? 

Herbert.  None,  but  to  lose  your  eyes. 

Arthur.     O  heaven,  that  there  were  but  a  mote  in 
yours, 
A  grain,  a  dust,  a  gnat,  a  wandering  hair, 
Any  annoyance  in  that  precious  sense ! 
Then,  feeling  what  small  things' are  boisterous  there, 
Your  vile  intent  must  needs  seem  horrible. 

PERFECTION   ADMITS   OF   NO   ADDITION. 

To  gild  refined  gold,  to  paint  the  lily, 
To  throw  a  perfume  on  the  violet, 
To  smooth  the  ice,  or  add  another  hue 
Unto  the  rainbow,  or  with  taper-light 


158  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

To  seek  the  beauteous  eye  of  heaven  to  garnish, » 
Is  wasteful  and  ridiculous  excess. 


In  this,  the  antique  and  well-noted  face 

Of  plain  old  form  is  much  disfigured, 

And,  like  a  shifted  wind  unto  a  sail, 

It  makes  the  course  of  thoughts  to  fetch  about. 

Startles  and  frights  consideration, 

Makes  sound  opinion  sick  and  truth  suspected. 

For  putting  on  so  new  a  fashioned  robe. 

THE    COUNTENANCE   OF   A    MURDERER. 

This  is  the  man  should  do  the  bloody  deed ; 
The  image  of  a  wicked  heinous  fault 
Lives  in  his  eye  ;  that  close  aspect  of  his 
Does  show  the  mood  of  a  much  troubled  breast. 

A   STRUGGLING   CONSCIENCE. 

The  colour  of  the  king  doth  come  and  go 
Between  his  purpose  and  his  conscience. 
Like  heralds  'twixt  two  dreadful  battles  set : 
His  passion  is  so  ripe,  it  needs  must  break. 

NEWS-BEARERS. 

Old  men  and  beldams  in  the  streets 
Do  prophesy  upon  it  dangerously : 
Young  Arthur^s  death  is  common  in  their  mouths : 
And  when  they  talk  of  him,  they  shake  their  heads 

1  Decorate. 


King  John.  159 

And  whisper  one  another  in  the  ear ; 

And  he  that  speaks  doth  gripe  the  hearer's  wrist, 

Whilst  he  that  hears  makes  fearful  action, 

With  wrinkled  brows,  with  nods,  with  rolling  eyes 

I  saw  a  smith  stand  with  his  hammer,  thus, 

The  whilst  his  iron  did  on  the  anvil  cool, 

With  open  mouth  swallowing  a  tailor's  news ; 

Who,  with  his  shears  and  measure  in  his  hand. 

Standing  on  slippers,  which  his  nimble  haste 

Had  falsely  thrust  upon  contrary  feet. 

Told  of  a  many  thousand  warlike  French, 

That  were  embattailed  and  rank'd  in  Kent : 

Another  lean  unwash'd  artificer 

Cuts  off  his  tale  and  talks  of  Arthur's  death. 


THE   EVIL   PURPOSES   OF    KINGS   TOO    SERVILELY 
EXECUTED. 

It  is  the  curse  of  kings  to  be  attended 

By  slaves  that  take  their  humours  for  a  warrant 

To  break  within  the  bloody  house  of  life. 

And  on  the  winking  of  authority 

To  understand  a  law,  to  know  the  meaning 

Of  dangerous  majesty,  when  perchance  it  frowns 

More  upon  humour  than  advised  respect.' 

A   villain's   LOOK,    AND    READY   ZEAL. 

How  oft  the  sight  of  means  to  do  ill  deeds. 
Makes  ill  deeds  done  !     Hadst  not  thou  been  by, 

*  Deliberate  consideration. 


i6o  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

A  fellow  by  the  hand  of  nature  mark'd. 
Quoted  '  and  sign'd  to  do  a  deed  of  shame, 
This  murder  had  not  come  into  my  mind : 

Hadst  thou  but  shook  thy  head  or  made  a  pause 

When  I  spake  darkly  what  I  purposed, 

Or  turn'd  an  eye  of  doubt  upon  my  face. 

As  bid  me  tell  my  tale  in  express  words. 

Deep  shame  had  struck  me  dumb,  made  me  break 

off. 
And  those  thy  fears  might  have  wrought  fears  in  me. 

HYPOCRISY. 

Trust  not  those  cunning  waters  of  his  eyes, 
For  villany  is  not  without  such  rheum ;  ' 
And  he,  long  traded  in  it,  makes  it  seem 
Like  rivers  of  remorse '  and  innocency. 

DESPAIR. 

If  thou  didst  but  consent 
To  this  most  cruel  act,  do  but  despair. 
And  if  thou  want'st  a  cord,  the  smallest  thread 
That  ever  spider  twisted  from  her  womb 
Will  serve  to  strangle  thee ;  a  rush  will  be 
A  beam  to  hang  thee  on;  or  wouldst   thou  drown 

thyself. 
Put  but  a  little  water  in  a  spoon. 
And  it  shall  be  as  all  the  ocean, 
Enough  to  stifle  such  a  villain  up. 

»  Observed.  *  Moisture.  '  Pity. 


King  John.  i6i 


ACT    V. 


A   MAN    IN    TEARS. 


Let  me  wipe  off  this  honourable  dew, 

That  silverly  doth  progress  on  thy  cheeks : 

My  heart  hath  melted  at  a  lady's  tears, 

Being  an  ordinary  inundation ; 

But  this  effusion  of  such  manly  drops, 

This  shower,  blown  up  by  tempest  of  the  soul. 

Startles  mine  eyes,  and  makes  me  more  amazed 

Than  had  I  seen  the  vaulty  top  of  heaven 

Figured  quite  o'er  with  burning  meteors. 

Lift  up  thy.  brow,  renowned  Salisbury, 

And  with  a  great  heart  heave  away  this  storm : 

Commend  these  waters  to  those  baby  eyes 

That  never  saw  the  giant  world  enraged ; 

Nor  met  with  fortune  other  than  at  feasts. 

Full  of  warm  blood,  of  mirth,  of  gossiping. 

DRUMS. 

Lewis.     Strike  up  the  drums ;    and  let  the  tongue 
of  war 
Plead  for  our  interest. 

Bastard.  Do  but  start 

An  echo  with  the  clamour  of  thy  drum, 
And  even  at  hand  a  drum  is  ready  braced 
That  shall  reverberate  all  as  loud  as  thine ; 


1 62  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Sound  but  another,  and  another  shall 
As  loud  as  thine,  rattle  the  welkin's  *  ear 
And  mock  the  deep-mouth'd  thunder. 

APPROACH    OF   DEATH. 

It  is  too  late :  the  life  of  all  his  blood 

Is  touch'd  corruptibly,  and  his  pure  brain. 

Which  some  suppose  the  souFs  frail  dwelling-house, 

Doth,  by  the  idle  comments  that  it  makes 

Foretell  the  ending  of  mortality. 

MADNESS   OCCASIONED   BY   POISON. 

King  John.      Ay,    marry,    now    my     soul    hath 
elbow-room. 
It  would  not  out  at  windows  nor  at  doors. 
There  is  so  hot  a  summer  in  my  bosom. 
That  all  my  bowels  crumble  up  to  dust : 
I  am  a  scribbled  form,  drawn  with  a  pen 
Upon  a  parchment,  and  against  this  fire 
Do  I  shrink  up. 

Prince  Henry.        How  fares  your  majesty? 

Ki7ig  John.     Poison'd,  — ill  fare  —  dead,  forsook, 
cast  off: 
And  none  of  you  will  bid  the  winter  come 
To  thrust  his  icy  fingers  in  my  maw. 
Nor  let  my  kingdom's  rivers  take  their  course 
Through  my  burn'd  bosom,  nor  entreat  the  north 
To  make  his  bleak  winds  kiss  my  parched  lips. 
And  comfort  me  with  cold. 

iSky. 


King  John,  163 


ENGLAND   INVINCIBLE   IF   UNANIMOUS. 

This  England  never  did,  nor  never  shall, 
Lie  at  the  proud  foot  of  a  conqueror. 
But  when  it  first  did  help  to  wound  itself. 
Now  these  her  princes  are  come  home  again, 
Come  the  three  corners  of  the  world  in  arms, 
And  we  shall  shock  them.     Nought  shall  make  us  rue, 
If  England  to  itself  do  rest  but  true. 


KING   RICHARD   II. 
ACT  I. 

REPUTATION. 

The  purest  treasure  mortal  times  afford 

Is  spotless  reputation  :  that  away, 

Men  are  but  gilded  loam  or  painted  clay. 

COWARDICE. 

That  which  in  mean  men  we  intitle  patience 
Is  pale  cold  cowardice  in  noble  breasts. 

CONSOLATION   UNDER   BANISHMENT 

All  places  that  the  eye  of  heaven  visits 
Are  to  a  wise  man  ports  and  happy  havens 
Teach  thy  necessity  to  reason  thus ; 
There  is  no  virtue  like  necessity. 
Think  not  the  king  did  banish  thee, 
But  thou  the  king.     Woe  doth  the  heavier  sit, 
Where  it  perceives  it  is  but  faintly  borne. 
Go,  say  I  sent  thee  forth  to  purchase  honour 
And  not  the  king  exiled  thee ;  or  suppose 
Devouring  pestilence  hangs  in  our  air. 
And  thou  art  flying  to  a  fresher  clime : 


King  Richard  II,  165 

Look,  what  thy  soul  holds  dear,  imagine  it 

To  lie  that  way  thou  go'st,  not  whence  thou  comest : 

Suppose  the  singing  birds  musicians, 

The    grass   whereon    thou    tread'st    the    presence  > 

strew'd, 
The  flowers  fair  ladies,  and  thy  steps,  no  more 
Than  a  delightful  measure  or  a  dance ; 
For  gnarling  ^  sorrow  hath  less  power  to  bite 
The  man  chat  mocks  at  it  and  sets  it  light. 


THOUGHTS  INEFFECTUAL  TO  MODERATE  AFFLICTION. 

O,  who  can  hold  a  fire  in  his  hand 

By  thinking  on  the  frosty  Caucasus  ? 

Or  cloy  the  hungry  edge  of  appetite 

By  bare  imagination  of  a  feast? 

Or  wallow  naked  in  December  snow 

By  thinking  on  fantastic  summer's  heat  ? 

O,  no !  the  apprehension  of  the  good 

Gives  but  the  greater  feeling  to  the  worse : 

Fell  sorrow's  tooth  doth  never  rankle  more 

Than  when  it  bites,  but  lanceth  not  the  sore. 

POPULARITY. 

Ourself  and  Bushy,  Bagot  here  and  Green 
Observed  his  courtship  to  the  common  people ; 
How  he  did  seem  to  dive  into  their  hearts 
With  humble  and  familiar  courtesy. 
What  reverence  he  did  throw  away  on  slaves, 

1  Presence-chamber  at  Court,  2  Growling. 


1 66  Beauties  of  Shahspeare. 

Wooing  poor  craftsmen  with  the  craft  of  smiles 

And  patient  underbearing  of  his  fortune, 

As  't  were,  to  banish  their  affects  with  him. 

Off  goes  his  bonnet  to  an  oyster-wench ; 

A  brace  of  draymen  bid  God  speed  him  well 

And  had  the  tribute  of  his  supple  knee, 

With  '  Thanks,  my  countrymen,  my  loving  friends  ; 

As  were  our  England  in  reversion  his. 

And  he  our  subjects'  next  degree  in  hope. 


ACT   II. 

A  RASH    FIERCE    BLAZE   OF    RIOT. 

Violent  fires  soon  burn  out  themselves ; 
Small  showers  last  long,  but  sudden  storms  are  short ; 
\^  :     He  tires  betimes  that  spurs  too  fast  betimes;  •     ■        •  ' 
With  eager  feeding  food  doth  choke  the  feeder : 
Light  vanity,  insatiate  cormorant 
Consuming  means,  soon  preys  upon  itself. 

ENGLAND   PATHETICALLY    DESCRIBED. 

This  royal  throne  of  kings,  this  scepter'd  isle, 
This  earth  of  majesty,  this  seat  of  Mars, 
This  other  Eden,  demi-paradise. 
This  fortress,  built  by  nature  for  herself 
Against  infection  and  the  hand  of  war, 
This  happy  breed  of  men,  this  little  world. 
This  precious  stone  set  in  the  silver  sea. 
Which  serves  it  in  the  office  of  a  wall 


King  Richard  IL  167 

Or  as  a  moat  defensive  to  a  house. 
Against  the  envy  of  less  happier  lands, 

England,  bound  in  with  the  triumphant  sea, 
Whose  rocky  shore  beats  back  the  envious  siege 
Of  watery  Neptune,  is  now  bound  in  with  shame. 
With  inky  blots  and  rotten  parchment  bonds  : 
That  England,  that  was  wont  to  conquer  others. 
Hath  made  a  shameful  conquest  of  itself. 

GRIEF. 

Each  substance  of  a  grief  hath  twenty  shadows, 
Which  shows  like  grief  itself,  but  are  not  so ; 
For  sorrow's  eye,  glazed  with  blinding  tears, 
Divides  one  thing  entire  to  many  objects ; 
Like  perspectives,'  which  rightly  gazed  upon 
Show  nothing  but  confusion,  eyed  awry, 
Distinguish  form. 

HOPE   DECEITFUL. 

I  will  despair,  and  be  at  enmity 

With  cozening  hope  :   he  is  a  flatterer, 

A  parasite,  a  keeper  back  of  death. 

Who  gently  would  dissolve  the  bands  of  life, 

Which  false  hope  lingers  in  extremity. 

PROGNOSTICS   OF   CHANGE. 

The  bay  trees  in  our  country  are  all  wither'd 
And  meteors  fright  the  fixed  stars  of  heaven ; 

»  Pictures. 


1 68  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

The  pale-faced  moon  looks  bloody  on  the  earth 

And  lean-look'd  prophets  whisper  fearful  change ; 

Rich  men  look  sad  and  ruffians  dance  and  leap, 

The  one  in  fear  to  lose  what  they  enjoy, 

The  other  to  enjoy  by  rage  and  war : 

These  signs  forerun  the  death  or  fall  of  kings. 


ACT    III. 

APOSTROPHE   TO    ENGLAND. 

N 

As  a  long-parted  mother  with  her  child 

Plays  fondly  with  her  tears  and  smiles  in  meeting. 

So,  weeping,  smiling,  greet  I  thee,  my  earth, 

And  do  thee  favours  with  my  royal  hands. 

Feed  not  thy  sovereign's  foe,  my  gentle  earth. 

Nor  with  thy  sweets  comfort  his  ravenous  sen$le";'  ^^ 

But  let  thy  spiders,  that  suck  up  thy  venom, 

And  heavy-gaited  toads  lie  in  their  way. 

Doing  annoyance  to  the  treacherous  feet 

Which  with  usurping  steps  do  trample  thee : 

Yield  stinging  nettles  to  mine  enemies ; 

And  when  they  from  thy  bosom  pluck  a  flower, 

Guard  it,  I  pray  thee,  with  a  lurking  adder 

Whose  double  tongue  may  with  a  mortal  touch 

Throw  death  upon  thy  sovereign's  enemies. 

Mock  not  my  senseless  conjuration,  lords : 

This  earth  shall  have  a  feeling  and  these  stones 

Prove  armed  soldiers,  ere  her  native  king 

Shall  falter  under  foul  rebellion's  arms. 


King  Richard  II.  169 


SUN-RISING   AFTER   A   DARK    NIGHT. 

Know'st  thou  not 
That  when  the  searching  eye  of  heaven  is  hid 
Behind  the  globe,  that  Hghts  the  lower  world, 
Then  thieves  and  robbers  range  abroad  unseen 
In  murders  and  in  outrage,  bloody  here  ; 
But  when  from  under  this  terrestrial  ball 
He  fires  the  proud  tops  of  the  eastern  pines 
And  darts  his  light  through  every  guilty  hole, 
Then  murders,  treasons,  and  detested  sins, 
The  cloak  of  night  being  pluck'd  from  off  their  back^. 
Stand  bare  and  naked,  trembling  at  themselves? 

THE   DIVINE    RIGHT    OF    KINGS. 

So  when  this  thief,  this  traitor  Bolingbroke 
Who  all  this  while  hath  revelPd  in  the  night 
Whilst  we  were  wandering  with  the  antipodes 
Shall  see  us  rising  in  our  throne,  the  east, 
His  treasons  will  sit  blushing  in  his  face, 
Not  able  to  endure  the  sight  of  day, 
But  self- affrighted  tremble  at  his  sin. 
Not  all  the  water  in  the  rough  rude  sea 
Can  wash  the  balm  off  from  an  anointed  king  r 
The  breath  of  worldly  men  cannot  depose 
The  deputy  elected  by  the  Lord. 

STORY   OF   A    REVOLT. 

Like  an  unseasonable  stormy  day, 

Which  makes  the  silver  rivers  drown  their  shores, 


lyo  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

As  if  the  world  were  all  dissolved  to  tears, 

So  high  above  his  limits  swells  the  rage 

Of  Bolingbroke,  covering  your  fearful  land 

With  hard  bright  steel  and  hearts  harder  than  steel. 

White-beards   have    arm'd    their    thin    and    hairless 

scalps 
Against  thy  majesty ;  boys,  with  women's  voices. 
Strive  to  speak  big  and  clap  their  female  joints 
In  stiff  unwieldy  arms  against  thy  crown : 
Thy  very  beadsmen  learn  to  bend  their  bows 
Of  double-fatal  yew  against  thy  state  ; 
Yea,  distaif-women  manage  rusty  bills 
Against  thy  seat :   both  young  and  old  rebel. 
And  all  goes  worse  than  I  have  power  to  tell. 

VANITY   OF   POWER   AND    MISERY   OF    KINGS. 

King  Richard.     Of  comfort  no  man  speak  : 
Let 's  talk  of  graves,  of  worms  and  epitaphs ; 
Make  dust  our  paper  and  with  rainy  eyes 
Write  sorrow  on  the  bosom  of  the  earth. 
Let  's  choose  executors  and  talk  of  wills  : 
And  yet  not  so,  for  what  can  we  bequeath 
Save  our  deposed  bodies  to  the  ground? 
Our  lands,  our  lives  and  all  are  Bolingbroke's, 
And  nothing  can  we  call  our  own  but  death 
And  that  small  model  of  the  barren  earth 
Which  serves  as  paste  and  cover  to  our  bones. 
For  God's  sake,  let  us  sit  upon  the  ground 
And  tell  sad  stories  of  the  death  of  kings  : 
How  some  have  been  deposed ;  some  slain  in  war ; 


King  Richard  II.  ^Ti 

Some  haunted  by  the  ghosts  they  have  deposed ; 

Some  poisoned  by  their  wives  ;   some  sleeping  kill'd ; 

All  murdered  :   for  within  the  hollow  crown 

That  rounds  the  mortal  temples  of  a  king, 

Keeps  Death  his  court  and  there  the  antic  sits, 

Scoffing  his  state  and  grinning  at  his  pomp. 

Allowing  him  a  breath,  a  little  scene. 

To  monarchize,  be  fear'd,  and  kill  with  looks, 

Infusing  him  with  self  and  vain  conceit. 

As  if  this  flesh  which  walls  about  our  life 

Were  brass  impregnable,  and,  humoured  thus 

Comes  at  the  last  and  with  a  little  pin 

Bores  through  his  castle  wall,  and  farewell  king ! 

Cover  your  heads  and  mock  not  flesh  and  blood 

With  solemn  reverence :   throw  away  respect, 

Tradition,  form  and  ceremonious  duty, 

For  you  have  but  mistook  me  all  this  while : 

I  live  with  bread  like  you,  feel  want. 

Taste  grief,  need  friends:   subjected  thus, 

How  can  you  say  to  me,  I  am  a  king? 

THE   WAY   OF   FEAR. 

Wise  men  ne'er  sit  and  wail  their  woes, 
But  presently  prevent  the  ways  to  wail. 
To  fear  the  foe,  since  fear  oppresseth  strength, 
Gives  in  your  weakness  strength  unto  your  foe, 
And  so  your  follies  fight  against  yourself. 
Fear,  and  be  slain ;  no  worse  can  come  to  fight ; 
And  fight  and  die  is  death  destroying  death  ; 
Where  fearing  dying  pays  death  servile  breath. 


172  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 


A    KING'S    CURSE. 

Yet  know,  my  master,  God  omnipotent, 
Is  mustering  in  his  clouds  on  our  behalf 
Armies  of  pestilence  ;  and  they  shall  strike 
Your  children  yet  unborn  and  unbegot, 
That  lift  your  vassal  hands  against  my  head 
And  threat  the  glory  of  my  precious  crown. 
Tell  Bolingbroke  —  for  yond  methinks  he  stands 
That  every  stride  he  makes  upon  my  land 
Is  dangerous  treason :  he  is  come  to  open 
The  purple  testament  of  bleeding  war  ; 
But  ere  the  crown  he  looks  for  live  in  peace, 
Ten  thousand  bloody  crowns  of  mothers'  sons 
Shall  ill  become  the  flower  of  England's  face. 
Change  the  complexion  of  her  maid-pale  peace 
To  scarlet  indignation,  and  bedew 
Her  pastures'  grass  with  faithful  English  blood 

A  king's  renunciation. 

The  king  shall  be  contented :  must  he  lose 
The  name  of  king?  o'  God's  name,  let  it  go : 
I  '11  give  my  jewels  for  a  set  of  beads, 
My  gorgeous  palace  for  a  hermitage, 
My  gay  apparel  for  an  alrftsman's  gown, 
My  figured  goblets  for  a  dish  of  wood, 
My  sceptre  for  a  palmer's  walking-staff, 
My  subjects  for  a  pair  of  carved  saints. 
And  my  large  kingdom  for  a  little  grave, 
A  little  little  grave,  an  obscure  grave ; 


King  Richard  h.  173 

Or  I  '11  be  buried  in  the  king's  highway, 
Some  way  of  common  trade,  where  subjects'  feet 
May  hourly  trample  on  their  sovereign's  head ; 
For  on  my  heart  they  tread  now  whilst  I  live ; 
And  buried  once,  why  not  upon  my  head? 


A   KINGDOM    COMPARED    TO    A   GARDEN. 

Gardejier.     Go,     bind    thou     up    yon     dangling 
apricocks 
Which,  like  unruly  children,  make  their  sire 
Stoop  with  oppression  of  their  prodigal  weight : 
Give  some  supportance  to  the  bending  twigs. 
Go  thou,  and  like  an  executioner. 
Cut  off  the  heads  of  too  fast  growing  sprays, 
That  look  too  lofty  in  our  commonwealth  : 
All  must  be  even  in  our  government. 
You  thus  employ'd,  I  will  go  root  away 
The  noisome  weeds,  which  without  profit  suck 
The  soil's  fertility  from  wholesome  flowers. 

Servant.     Why  should  we   in   the   compass  of  a 
pale 
Keep  law  and  form  and  due  proportion. 
Showing,  as  in  a  model,  our  firm  estate, 
When  our  sea-walled  garden,  the  whole  land, 
Is  full  of  weeds,  her  fairest  flowers  choked  up. 
Her  fruit-trees  all  unpruned,  her  hedges  ruin'd. 
Her  knots  disorder'd  and  her  wholesome  herbs 
Swarming  with  caterpillars  ? 

Gard.  Hold  thy  peace  : 

He  that  hath  suffer'd  this  disorder'd  spring 


1 74  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Hath  now  himself  met  with  the  fall  of  leaf: 

The    weeds   which    his    broad-spreading   leaves  did 

shelter, 
That  seem'd  in  eating  him  to  hold  him  up, 
Are  pluck'd  up  root  and  all  by  Bolingbroke, 
I  mean  the  Earl  of  Wiltshire,  Bushy,  Green. 

Serv.     What,  are  they  dead? 

Card.  They  are  ;  and  Bolingbroke 

Hath  seized  the  wasteful  king.     O,  what  pity  is  it 
That  he  had  not  so  trimm'd  and  dress'd  his  land 
As  we  this  garden  !     We  at  time  of  year 
Do  wound  the  bark,  the  skin  of  our  fruit-trees, 
Lest,  being  over-proud  in  sap  and  blood, 
With  too  much  riches  it  confound  itself: 
Had  he  done  so  to  great  and  growing  men. 
They  might  have  lived  to  bear  and  he  to  taste 
Their  fruits  of  duty :   superfluous  branches 
We  lop  away,  that  bearing  boughs  may  live  : 
Had  he  done  so,  himself  had  borne  the  crown. 
Which  waste  of  idle  hours  hath  quite  thrown  down. 


ACT    IV. 

A   DEPOSED    KING. 

You  may  my  glories  and  my  state  depose. 
But  not  my  griefs ;  still  am  I  king  of  those. 

I  give  this  heavy  weight  from  off  my  head 
And  this  unwieldy  sceptre  from  my  hand, 


King  Richard  IL  175 

The  pride  of  kingly  sway  from  out  my  heart ; 
With  mine  own  tears  I  wash  away  my  balm, 
With  mine  own  hands  I  give  away  my  crown, 
With  mine  own  tongue  deny  my  sacred  state. 
With  mine  own  breath  release  all  duty's  rites : 
All  pomp  and  majesty  I  do  forswear ; 
My  manors,  rents,  revenues,  I  forego ; 
My  acts,  decrees,  and  statutes  I  deny : 
God  pardon  all  oaths  that  are  broke  to  me  ! 
God  keep  all  vows  unbroke  that  swear  to  thee  ! 
Make  me,  that  nothing  have,  with  nothing  grieved. 
And  thou  with  all  pleased,  that  hast  all  achieved  ! 


ACT   V. 

MELANCHOLY   STORIES. 

In  winter's  tedious  nights,  sit  by  the  fire 

With  good  old  folks  and  let  them  tell  thee  tales 

Of  woeful  ages  long  ago  betid ;  ' 

And  ere  thou  bid  good  night,  to  quit  2  their  griefs. 

Tell  thou  the  lamentable  tale  of  me 

And  send  the  hearers  weeping  to  their  beds. 

A   PROPHECY. 

Northumberland,  thou  ladder  wherewithal 
The  mounting  Bolingbroke  ascends  my  throne, 
The  time  shall  not  be  many  hours  of  age 
More  than  it  is  ere  foul  sin  gathering  head 

1  Passed.  2  Be  even  with  them. 


176  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Shall  break  into  corruption  :   thou  shalt  think, 

Though  he  divide  the  realm  and  give  thee  half, 

It  is  too  little,  helping  him  to  all ; 

And  he  shall  think  that  thou,  which  knovv^st  the  way 

To  plant  unrightful  kings,  wilt  know  again, 

Being  ne'er  so  little  urged,  another  way 

To  pluck  him  headlong  from  the  usurped  throne. 

The  love  of  wicked  men  converts  to  fear ; 

That  fear  to  hate,  and  hate  turns  one  or  both 

To  worthy  danger  and  deserved  death. 

PUBLIC    ENTRY. 

York.     Then,  as  I  said,  the  duke,  great  Boling- 
broke, 
Mounted  upon  a  hot  and  fiery  steed 
Which  his  aspiring  rider  seem'd  to  know, 
With  slow  but  stately  pace  kept  on  his  course, 
Whilst  all  tongues  cried    '  God  save  thee,    Boling- 

broke  ! ' 
You  would  have  thought  the  very  windows  spake, 
So  many  greedy  looks  of  young  and  old 
Through  casements  darted  their  desiring  eyes 
Upon  his  visage,  and  that  all  the  walls 
With  painted  imagery '  had  said  at  once 
*  Jesu  preserve  thee  !  welcome,  Bolingbroke  ! ' 
Whilst  he,  from  one  side  to  the  other  turning. 
Bareheaded,  lower  than  his  proud  steed's  neck, 
Bespake  them  thus :   ♦  I  thank  you,  countrymen.' 
And  thus  still  doing,  thus  he  pass'd  along. 

1  Tapestry  hung  from  the  windows. 


King  Richard  IL  177 

Duchess.    Alack,  poor  Richard  !  where  rode  he  the 
whilst? 

Yo?'k.     As  in  a  theatre,  the  eyes  of  men, 
After  a  well-graced  actor  leaves  the  stage, 
Are  idly  bent '  on  him  that  enters  next. 
Thinking  his  prattle  to  be  tedious ; 
Even  so,  or  with  much  more  contempt,  men's  eyes 
Did  scowl  on  gentle  Richard ;   no  man  cried  '  God 

save  him  ! ' 
No  joyful  tongue  gave  him  his  welcome  home : 
But  dust  was  thrown  upon  his  sacred  Head ; 
Which  with  such  gentle  sorrow  he  shook  off. 
His  face  still  combating  with  tears  and  smiles. 
The  badges  of  his  grief  and  patience. 
That  had  not  God,  for  some  strong  purpose,  steePd 
The  hearts  of  men,  they  must  perforce  have  melted 
And  barbarism  itself  have  pitied  him. 

VIOLETS. 

The  Duchess.     Who  are  the  violets  now 
That  strew  the  green  lap  of  the  new  come  spring? 
Aumerle.     Madam,  I  know  not,   nor  I  greatly 
care  not : 
God  knows  I  had  as  lief  be  none  as  one. 

York.     Well,  bear  you  well  in  this  new  spring  of 
time, 
Lest  you  be  cropp'd  before  you  come  to  prime. 

1  Carelessly  turned. 


1 78  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


A    SOLILOQUY   IN    PRISON. 

I  have  been  studying  how  I  may  compare 

This  prison  where  I  live  unto  the  world  : 

And  for  because  the  world  is  populous 

And  here  is  not  a  creature  but  myself, 

I  cannot  do  it ;  yet  I  '11  hammer  it  out. 

My  brain  I  '11  prove  the  female  to  my  soul, 

My  soul  the  father ;  and  these  two  beget 

A  generation  of  still-breeding  thoughts, 

And  these  same  thoughts  people  this  little  world,'. 

In  humours  like  the  people  of  this  world. 

For  no  thought  is  contented. 

Thoughts  tending  to  content  flatter  themselves 
That  they  are  not  the  first  of  fortune's  slaves, 
Nor  shall  not  be  the  last ;  Uke  silly  beggars 
Who,  sitting  in  the  stocks  refuge  their  shame. 
That  many  have  and  others  must  sit  there ; 
And  in  this  thought  they  find  a  kind  of  ease. 
Bearing  their  own  misfortune  on  the  back 
Of  such  as  have  before  endured  the  like. 
Thus  play  I  in  one  person  many  people, 
And  none  contented :  sometimes  am  I  king ; 
Then  treasons  make  me  wish  myself  a  beggar. 
And  so  I  am :   then  crushing  penury 
Persuades  me  I  was  better  when  a  king ; 
Then  am  I  king'd  again :  and  by  and  by 
Think  that  I  am  unking'd  by  Bolingbroke, 

1  His  own  body. 


King  Richard  II.  179 

And  straight  am  nothing :  but  whatever  I  be, 
Nor  I  nor  any  man  that  but  man  is 
With  nothing  shall  be  pleased,  till  he  be  eased 
With  being  nothins:. 


MUSIC   AND    TIME. 

Ha,  ha  !  keep  time  ;  how  sour  sweet  music  is 

When  time  is  broke  and  no  proportion  kept ! 

So  is  it  in  the  music  of  men's  lives. 

And  here  have  I  the  daintiness  of  ear 

To  check  time  broke  in  a  disordered  string  ; 

But  for  the  concord  of  my  state  and  time 

Had  not  an  ear  to  hear  my  true  time  broke. 

I  wasted  time,  and  now  doth  time  waste  me ; 

For  now  hath  time  made  me  his  numbering  clock : 

My  thoughts  are  minutes ;  and  with  sighs  they  jar 

Their  watches  on  unto  mine  eyes,  the  outward  watch, 

Whereto  my  finger,  like  a  dial's  point, 

Is  pointing  still,  in  cleansing  them  from  tears. 

Now,  sir,  the  sound  that  tells  what  hour  it  is 

Are  clamorous  groans,  which  strike  upon  my  heart, 

Which  is  the  bell :  so  sighs  and  tears  and  groans 

Show  minutes,  times,  and  hours :  but  my  time 

Runs  posting  on  in  Bolingbroke's  proud  joy. 

While  I  stand  fooling  here,  his  Jack  o'  the  clock, 

This  music  mads  me ;  let  it  sound  no  more  ; 

For  though  it  hath  holp  madmen  to  their  wits, 

In  me  it  seems  it  will  mpke  wise  men  mad. 


i8o  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

THE    king's    steed. 

King  Richard.     How  comest  thou  hither 
Where  no  man  never  comes  but  that  sad  dog 
That  brings  me  food  to  make  misfortune  live? 

Groo7n.     I  was  a  poor  groom  of  thy  stable,  king, 
When  thou  wert  king ;  who,  travelling  towards  York, 
With  much  ado  at  length  have  gotten  leave 
To  look  upon  my  sometimes  royal  master's  face. 
O,  how  it  yearn''d  my  heart  when  I  beheld 
In  London  streets,  that  coronation-day, 
When  Bolingbroke  rode  on  roan  Barbary,    • 
That  horse  that  thou  so  often  hast  bestrid. 
That  horse  that  I  so  carefully  have  dress'd  ! 

K.  Rich.     Rode  he  on  Barbary?     Tell  me,  gentle 
friend , 
How  went  he  under  him? 

Groom.     So  proudly  as  if  he  disdain'd  the  ground. 

K.  Rich.     So  proud  that  Bolingbroke  was  on  his 
back  ! 
That  jade  hath  eat  bread  from  my  royal  hand ; 
This  hand  hath  made  him  proud  with  clapping  him. 
Would  he  not  stumble?  would  he  not  fall  down, 
Since  pride  must  have  a  fall,  and  break  the  neck 
Of  that  proud  man  that  did  usurp  his  back  ? 
Forgiveness,  horse !  why  do  I  rail  on  thee, 
Since  thou,  created  to  be  awed  by  man, 
Wast  born  to  bear?     I  was  not  made  a  horse; 
And  yet  I  bear  a  burthen  like  an  ass, 
Spurred,  gall'd  and  tired  by  jauncing  Bolingbroke. 


KING   HENRY   IV. 

PART  I. 

ACT  I. 

PEACE   AFTER    CIVIL   WAR. 

So  shaken  as  we  are,  so  wan  with  care, 

Find  we  a  time  for  frighted  peace  to  pant, 

And  breathe  short-winded  accents  of  new  broils, 

To  be  commenced  in  strands  afar  remote. 

No  more  the  thirsty  entrance  of  this  soil 

Shall  daub  her  Hps  with  her  own  children's  blood 

No  more  shall  trenching  war  channel  her  fields. 

Nor  bruise  her  flowerets  with  the  armed  hoofs 

Of  hostile  paces  :  those  opposed  eyes. 

Which,  like  the  meteors  of  a  troubled  heaven, 

All  of  one  nature,  of  one  substance  bred. 

Did  lately  meet  in  the  intestine  shock 

And  furious  close  of  civil  butchery 

Shall  now,  in  mutual  well-beseeming  ranks, 

March  all  one  way  and  be  no  more  opposed 

Against  acquaintance,  kindred  and  allies : 

The  edge  of  war,  like  an  ill-sheathed  knife. 

No  more  shall  cut  his  master. 


1 82  Beauties  of  Shahspeare, 


A    CRUSADE. 

As  far  as  to  the  sepulchre  of  Christ, 
Whose  soldier  now,  under  whose  blessed  cross 
We  are  impressed  and  engaged  to  fight. 
Forthwith  a  power  of  English  shall  we  levy ; 
Whose  arms  were  moulded  in  their  mothers'  womb 
To  chase  these  pagans  in  those  holy  fields 
Over  whose  acres  walked  those  blessed  feet 
Which  fourteen  hundred  years  ago  were  nail'd 
For  our  advantage  on  the  bitter  cross. 

KING   henry's   character    OF     PERCY,    AND   OF    HIS 
SON   PRINCE    HENRY. 

Yea,  there  thou  makest  me  sad  and  makest  me  sin 

In  envy  that  my  lord  Northumberland 

Should  be  the  father  of  so  blest  a  son, 

A  son,  who  is  the  theme  of  honour's  tongue ; 

Amongst  a  grove,  the  very  straightest  plant ; 

Who  is  sweet  fortune's  minion  ^  and  her  pride : 

Whilst  I,  by  looking  on  the  praise  of  him. 

See  riot  and  dishonour  stain  the  brow 

Of  my  young  Harry.     O  that  it  could  be  proved 

That  some  night-tripping  fairy  had  exchanged 

In  cradle-clothes  our  children  where  they  lay, 

And  call'd  mine  Percy,  his  Plantagenet ! 

Then  would  I  have  his  Harry,  and  he  mine. 

»  Favorite. 


King  Henry  IV.  183 

PRINCE    henry's    soliloquy. 

I  know  you  all,  and  will  awhile  uphold 

The  unyoked  humour  of  your  idleness  : 

Yet  herein  will  I  imitate  the  sun, 

Who  doth  permit  the  base  contagious  clouds 

To  smother  up  his  beauty  from  the  world. 

That,  when  he  please  again  to  be  himself. 

Being  wanted,  he  may  be  more  wonder'd  at, 

By  breaking  through  the  foul  and  ugly  mists 

Of  vapours  that  did  seem  to  strangle  him. 

If  all  the  year  were  playing  holidays, 

To  sport  would  be  as  tedious  as  to  work ; 

But  when  they  seldom  come,  they  wishM  for  come, 

And  nothing  pleaseth  but  rare  accidents. 

So,  when  this  loose  behaviour  I  throw  oif. 

And  pay  the  debt  I  never  promised, 

By  how  much  better  than  my  word  I  am, 

By  so  much  shall  I  falsify  men's  hopes  ;^ 

And  like  bright  metal  on  a  sullen^  ground. 

My  reformation,  glittering  o'er  my  fault. 

Shall  show  more  goodly  and  attract  more  eyes 

Than  that  which  hath  no  foil  to  set  it  off. 

I  '11  so  offend,  to  make  offence  a  skill ; 

Redeeming  time  when  men  think  least  I  will. 

hotspur's  description  of  a  finical  courtier. 

I  remember,  when  the  fight  was  done, 
When  I  was  dry  with  rage  and  extreme  toil, 

1  Expectations.  *  Dull. 


184  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Breathless  and  faint,  leaning  upon  my  sword, 

Came  there  a  certain  lord,  neat  and  trimly  dress'd. 

Fresh  as  a  bridegroom ;  and  his  chin  new  reap'd 

Show'd  like  a  stubble-land  at  harvest-home ; 

He  was  perfumed  like  a  milliner ; 

And  'twixt  his  finger  and  his  thumb  he  held 

A  pouncet-box,^  which  ever  and  anon 

He  gave  his  nose  and  took  't  away  again ; 

Who  therewith  angry,  when  it  next  came  there, 

Took  it  in  snuff;  and  still  he  smiled,  and  talkVd, 

And.  as  the  soldiers  bore  dead  bodies  by, 

He  call'd  them  untaught  knaves,  unmannerly, 

To  bring  a  slovenly  unhandsome  corse 

Betwixt  the  wind  and  his  nobility. 

With  many  holiday  and  lady  terms 

He  question^  me ;  among  the  rest,  demanded 

My  prisoners,  in  your  majesty's  behalf. 

I  then,  all  smarting  with  my  wounds  being  cold, 

To  be  so  pester'd  with  a  popinjay,^ 

Out  of  my  grief  ^  and  my  impatience, 

Answer'd  neglectingly  I  know  not  what. 

He  should,  or  he  should  not ;  for  he  made  me  mad 

To  see  him  shine  so  brisk  and  smell  so  sweet 

And  talk  so  like  a  waiting-gentlewoman 

Of  guns  and  drums  and   wounds,  —  God  save  the 

mark !  — 
And  telling  me  the  sovereign'st  thing  on  earth 
Was  parmaceti  for  an  inward  bruise ; 
And  that  it  was  great  pity,  so  it  was, 

1  A  small  box  for  musk  or  other  perfumes. 
3  Parrot.  »Pain. 


King  Henry  IV,  185 

That  villanous  salt-petre  should  be  digged 
Out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth, 
Which  many  a  good  tall '  fellow  had  destroy'd 
So  cowardly ;  and  but  for  these  vile  guns, 
He  would  himself  have  been  a  soldier. 

SINGLE   COMBAT. 

On  the  gentle  Severn's  sedgy  bank, 
In  single  opposition,  hand  to  hand, 
He  did  confound  the  best  part  of  an  hour 
In  changing  hardiment  with  great  Glendower : 
Three  times  they  breathed  and  three  times  did  they 

drink. 
Upon  agreement,  of  swift  Severn's  flood  ; 
Who  then,  affrighted  with  their  bloody  looks, 
Ran  fearfully  among  the  trembUng  reeds, 
And  hid  his  crisp  head  in  the  hollow  bank 
Bloodstained  with  these  valiant  combatants. 
Never  did  base  and  rotten  policy 
Colour  her  working  with  such  deadly  wounds ; 
Nor  never  could  the  noble  Mortimer 
Receive  so  many,  and  all  willingly : 
Then  let  not  him  be  slandered  with  revolt. 

DANGER. 

I  will  unclasp  a  secret  book, 
And  to  your  quick-conceiving  discontents 
I  '11  read  you  matter  deep  and  dangerous, 

1  Brave. 


1 86  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

As  full  of  peril  and  adventurous  spirit 
As  to  o'erwalk  a  current  roaring  loud 
On  the  unsteadfast  footing  of  a  spear. 


HONOUR. 

By  heaven,  methinks  it  were  an  easy  leap, 

To  pluck  bright  honour  from  the  pale-faced  moon, 

Or  dive  into  the  bottom  of  the  deep, 

Where  fathom-line  could  never  touch  the  ground. 

And  pluck  up  drowned  honour  by  the  locks ; 

So  he,  that  doth  redeem  her  thence  might  wear 

Without  corrival  ^  all  her  dignities  : 

Be  out  upon  this  half-faced  fellowship ! « 


ACT    II. 

LADY   PERCY'S   PATHETIC    SPEECH  TO  HER  HUSBAND. 

O  my  good  lord,  why  are  you  thus  alone  ? 

For  what  offence  have  I  this  fortnight  been 

A  banished  woman  from  my  Harry's  bed? 

Tell  me,  sweet  lord,  what  is  't  that  takes  from  thee 

Thy  stomach,  pleasure  and  thy  golden  sleep? 

Why  dost  thou  bend  thine  eyes  upon  the  earth. 

And  start  so  often  when  thou  sit'st  alone? 

Why  hast  thou  lost  the  fresh  blood  in  thy  cheeks ; 

And  given  my  treasures  and  my  rights  of  thee 

To  thick-eyed  musing  and  cursed  melancholy? 

In  thy  faint  slumbers  I  by  thee  have  watch'd, 

*  A  rival.  *  Friendship. 


King  Henry  IV.  187 

And  heard  thee  murmur  tales  of  iron  wars ; 

Speak  words  of  manage  to  thy  bounding  steed ; 

Cry  '  Courage  !  to  the  field  ! '     And  thou  hast  talk'd 

Of  sallies  and  retires,  of  trenches,  tents. 

Of  palisadoes,  frontiers,  parapets, 

Of  basilisks,  of  cannon,  culverin, 

Of  prisoners'  ransom  and  of  soldiers  slain. 

And  all  the  currents  *  of  a  heady  fight. 

Thy  spirit  within  thee  hath  been  so  at  war 

And  thus  hath  so  bestirr'd  thee  in  thy  sleep, 

That  beads  '^  of  sweat  have  stood  upon  thy  brow, 

Like  bubbles  in  a  late-disturbed  stream  ; 

And  in  thy  face  strange  motions  have  appeared, 

Such  as  we  see  when  men  restrain  their  breath 

On  some  great  sudden  hest.     O,  what  portents  are 

these  ? 
Some  heavy  business  hath  my  lord  in  hand, 
And  I  must  know  it,  else  he  loves  me  not. 


A  husband's  confidence. 

Lady  Percy.     In  faith,  I  '11  break  thy  little  finger, 
Harry, 
An  if  thou  wilt  not  tell  me  all  things  true. 

Hotspur.     Away, 
Away,  you  trifler !  -  Love  !  I  love  thee  not, 
I  care  not  for  thee,  Kate  :  this  is  no  world 
To  play  with  mammets  ^  and  to  tilt  with  lips : 
We  must  have  bloody  noses  and  crack'd  crowns, 

^Occurrences.  'Drops.  8  Dolls,  toys. 


1 88  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

And  pass  them  current  too.     God  's  me,  my  horse! 
What  say'st  thou,    Kate?  what   would'st  thou  have 
with  me? 

Lady.     Do  you  not  love  me?  do  you  not,  indeed? 
Well,  do  not  then ;   for  since  you  love  me  not, 
I  will  not  love  myself.     Do  you  not  love  me? 
Nay,  tell  me  if  you  speak  in  jest  or  no. 

Hot.     Come,  wilt  thou  see  me  ride? 
And  when  I  am  o'  horseback,  I  will  swear 
I  love  thee  infinitely.     But  hark  you,  Kate ; 
I  must  not  have  you  henceforth  question  me 
Whither  I  go,  nor  reason  whereabout : 
Whither  I  must,  I  must ;  and,  to  conclude, 
This  evening  must  I  leave  you,  gentle  Kate. 
I  know  you  wise,  but  yet  no  farther  wise 
Than  Harry  Percy's  wife  :  constant  you  are, 
But  yet  a  woman :  and  for  secrecy, 
No  lady  closer ;  for  I  well  believe 
Thou  wilt  not  utter  what  thou  dost  not  know ; 
And  so  far  will  I  trust  thee,  gentle  Kate. 

Lady.     How!  so  far? 

Hot.     Not  an  inch  further.     But  hark  you,  Kate : 
Whither  I  go,  thither  shall  you  go  too ; 
To-day  will  I  set  forth,  to-morrow  you. 
Will  this  content  you,  Kate? 

Lady.  It  must  of  force. 

FALSTAFF    DESCRIBED    BY    HIMSELF. 

A  goodly  portly  man,  i'  faith,  and  a  corpulent ;   of 
a  cheerful  look,  a  pleasing  eye  and  a  most  noble  car- 


King  Henry  IV.  189 

riage ;  and,  as  I  think,  his  age  some  fifty,  or,  by  V 
lady,  inclining  to  threescore ;  and  now  I  remember 
me,  his  name  is  FalstafF:  if  that  man  should  be 
lewdly  given,  he  deceiveth  me ;  for,  Harry,  I  see 
virtue  in  his  looks.  If  then  the  tree  may  be  known 
by  the  fruit,  as  the  fruit  by  the  tree,  then,  peremp- 
torily I  speak  it,  there  is  virtue  in  that  Falstaff :  him 
keep  with,  the  rest  banish. 

FALSTAFF    DESCRIBED    BY    PRINCE    HAL. 

There  is  a  devil  haunts  thee  in  the  likeness  of  an 
old  fat  man ;  a  tun  of  man  is  thy  companion.  Why 
dost  thou  converse  with  that  trunk  of  humours,  that 
bolting-hutch  of  beastliness,  that  swollen  parcel  of 
dropsies,  that  huge  bombard  of  sack,  that  stuffed 
cloak-bag  of  guts,  that  roasted  Manningtree  ox  with 
the  pudding  in  his  belly,  that  reverend  vice,  that  gray 
iniquity,  that  father  ruffian,  that  vanity  in  years? 
Wherein  is  he  good,  but  to  taste  sack  and  drink  it? 
wherein  neat  and  cleanly,  but  to  carve  a  capon  and 
eat  it?  wherein  cunning,  but  in  craft?  wherein  crafty, 
but  in  villany?  wherein  villanous,  but  in  all  things? 
wherein  worthy,  but  in  nothing? 


ACT    III. 

PRODIGIES    RIDICULED. 

Glendower .     I  cannot  blame  him  :  at  my  nativity 
The  front  of  heaven  was  full  of  fiery  shapes. 


190  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Of  burning  cressets  ;  *  and  at  my  birth 
The  frame  and  huge  foundation  of  the  earth 
Shaked  like  a  coward. 

Hotspur.  Why,  so  it  would  have  done  at  the  same 
season,  if  your  mother's  cat  had  but  kitten'd,  though 
yourself  had  ne'er  been  born. 

Diseased  nature  oftentimes  breaks  forth 

In  strange  eruptions ;   oft  the  teeming  earth 

Is  with  a  kind  of  colic  pinch'd  and  vex'd 

By  the  imprisoning  of  unruly  wind 

Within  her  womb;   which,  for  enlargement  striving. 

Shakes  the  old  beldam  earth  and  topples  ^  down 

Steeples  and  moss-grown  towers. 


ON   MISERABLE   RHYMERS. 

Glendower.       Being  but  young,  I  framed  to  the 
harp 
Many  an  English  ditty  lovely  well, 
And  gave  the  tongue  a  helpful  ornament, 
A  virtue  that  was  never  seen  in  you. 

Hotspur.     Marry ! 
And  I  am  glad  of  it  with  all  my  heart : 
I  had  rather  be  a  kitten  and  cry  mew 
Than  one  of  these  same  metre  ballad-mongers ; 
I  had  rather  hear  a  brazen  canstick  3  turn'd. 
Or  a  dry  wheel  grate  on  the  axletree ; 

1  I>ig^hts  set  crossways   upon   beacons,   and   also   upon   poles, 
which  were  used  in  processions,  etc. 

2  Tumbles.  »  Candlestick. 


King  Henry  IV,  191 

And  that  would  set  my  teeth  nothing  on  edge 

Nothing  so  much  as  mincing  poetry : 

'T  is  like  the  forced  gait  of  a  shuffling  nag. 


PUNCTUALITY    IN   BARGAINS. 

I  '11  give  thrice  so  much  land 
To  any  well-deserving  friend  ; 
But,  in  the  way  of  bargain,  mark  ye  me, 
I  '11  cavil  on  the  ninth  part  of  a  hair. 

A    BORE. 

He  angers  me 
With  telling  me  of  the  moldwarp  1  and  the  ant, 
Of  the  dreamer  Merlin  and  his  prophecies, 
And  of  a  dragon  and  a  finless  fish, 
A  clip-wing'd  griffin  and  a  moulten  raven, 
A  couching  lion  and  a  ramping  cat. 
And  such  a  deal  of  skimble-skamble  stuff 
As  puts  me  from  my  faith.      I  tell  you  what ; 
He  held  me  last  night  at  least  nine  hours 
In  reckoning  up  the  several  devils'  names 
That  were  his  lackeys :   I  cried  '  hum,'  and  '  well,  go 

to,' 
But  mark'd  him  not  a  word,     O,  he  is  as  tedious 
As  a  tired  horse,  a  railing  wife ; 
Worse  than  a  smoky  house  :   I  had  rather  live 
With  cheese  and  garlic  in  a  windmill,  far. 
Than  feed  on  cates  and  have  him  talk  to  me 
In  any  summer-house  in  Christendom. 

1  Mole. 


192  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


A    HUSBAND    SUNG   TO    SLEEP   BY    HIS    WIFE. 

She  bids  you  on  the  wanton  rushes  lay  you  down 
And  rest  your  gentle  head  upon  her  lap, 
And  she  will  sing  the  song  that  pleaseth  you 
And  on  your  eyelids  crown  the  god  of  sleep, 
Charming  your  blood  with  pleasing  heaviness, 
Making  such  diflference  'twixt  wake  and  sleep 
As  is  the  difference  'twixt  day  and  night 
The  hour  before  the  heavenly-harness'd  team 
Begins  his  golden  progress  in  the  east. 

KING   henry's   address    TO    HIS    SON.      - 

Had  I  so  lavish  of  my  presence  been, 

So  common-hackney'd  in  the  eyes  of  men, 

So  stale  and  cheap  to  vulgar  company, 

Opinion,  that  did  help  me  to  the  crown, 

Had  still  kept  loyal  to  possession  ' 

And  left  me  in  reputeless  banishment, 

A  fellow  of  no  mark  nor  likelihood. 

By  being  seldom  seen,  I  could  not  stir 

But  like  a  comet  I  was  wonder'd  at ; 

That  men  would  tell  their  children  '  This  is  he ;  ' 

Others  would  say  *  Where  ?  which  is  Bolingbroke  ? 

And  then  I  stole  all  courtesy  from  heaven. 

And  dress'd  myself  in  such  humility 

That  I  did  pluck  allegiance  from  men's  hearts, 

Loud  shouts  and  salutations  from  their  mouths, 

*True  to  him  that  had  then  possession  of  the  crown. 


King  Henry  IV.  193 

Even  in  the  presence  of  the  crowned  king. 

Thus  did  I  keep  my  person  fresh  and  new ; 

My  presence,  like  a  robe  pontifical, 

Ne'er  seen  but  wonder'd  at :  and  so  my  state. 

Seldom  but  sumptuous,  showed  like  a  feast 

And  won  by  rareness  such  solemnity. 

The  skipping  king,  he  ambled  up  and  down 

With  shallow  jesters  and  rash  bavin  ^  wits. 

Soon  kindled  and  soon  burnt ;  carded  his  state, 

Mingled  his  royalty  with  capering  fools, 

Had  his  great  name  profaned  with  their  scorns 

And  gave  his  countenance,  against  his  name, 

To  laugh  at  gibing  boys  and  stand  the  push 

Of  every  beardless  vain  comparative,^ 

Grew  a  companion  to  the  common  streets, 

Enfeoft'd  ^  himself  to  popularity  ; 

That,  being  daily  swallow'd  by  men's  eyes. 

They  surfeited  with  honey  and  began 

To  loathe  the  taste  of  sweetness,  whereof  a  little 

More  than  a  little  is  by  much  too  much. 

So  when  he  had  occasion  to  be  seen, 

He  was  but  as  the  cuckoo  is  in  June, 

Heard,  not  regarded ;  seen,  but  with  such  eyes 

As,  sick  and  blunted  with  community. 

Afford  no  extraordinary  gaze. 

Such  as  is  bent  on  sun-like  majesty 

When  it  shines  seldom  in  admiring  eyes ; 

But  rather  drowsed  and  hung  their  eyelids  down, 

Slept  in  his  face  and  rendered  such  aspect 

1  Flashy.  *  Rival.  »  Possessed. 


194  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

As  cloudy  men  use  to  their  adversaries, 

Being  with  his  presence  glutted,  gorged  and  full. 


A    SCATHING   COMPARISON. 

King.     For  all  the  world 
As  thou  art  to  this  hour  was  Richard  then 
When  I  from  France  set  foot  at  Ravenspurgh, 
And  even  as  I  was  then  is  Percy  now. 
Now,  by  my  sceptre  and  my  soul  to  boot, 
He  hath  more  worthy  interest  to  the  state 
Than  thou  the  shadow  of  succession  ; 
For  of  no  right,  nor  color  like  to  right. 
He  doth  fill  fields  with  harness  in  the  realm, 
Turns  head  against  the  lion's  armed  jaws, 
And,  being  no  more  in  debt  to  years  than  thou, 
Leads  ancient  lords  and  reverend  bishops  on 
To  bloody  battles  and  to  bruising  arms. 
What  never-dying  honour  hath  he  got 
Against  renowned  Douglas !  whose  high  deeds, 
Wfiose  hot  incursions  and  great  name  in  arms 
Holds  from  all  soldiers  chief  majority 
And  military  title  capital 

Through  all  the  kingdoms  that  acknowledge  Christ: 
Thrice  hath  this  Hotspur,  Mars  in  swathling  clothes. 
This  infant  warrior,  in  his  enterprizes 
Discomfited  great  Douglas,  ta'en  him  once. 
Enlarged  him  and  made  a  friend  of  him, 
To  fill  the  mouth  of  deep  defiance  up 
And  shake  the  peace  and  safety  of  our  throne. 
And  what  say  you  to  this?  Percy,  Northumberland, 


King  Henry  IV.  195 

The  Archbishop's  grace  of  York,  Douglas,  Mortimer, 

Capitulate  against  us  and  are  up. 

But  wherefore  do  I  tell  these  news  to  thee? 

Why,  Harry,  do  I  tell  thee  of  my  foes, 

Which  art  my  nearest  and  dearest  enemy? 

Thou  that  art  like  enough,  through  vassal  fear, 

Base  inclination  and  the  start  of  spleen, 

To  fight  against  me  under  Percy's  pay, 

To  dog  his  heels  and  curtsy  at  his  frowns, 

To  show  how  much  thou  art  degenerate. 

PRINCE    henry's    modest   DEFENCE    OF    HIMSELF. 

Do  not  think  so :  you  shall  not  find  it  so : 

And  God  forgive  them,  that  have  so  much  sway'd 

Your  majesty's  good  thoughts  away  from  me  ! 

I  will  redeem  all  this  on  Percy's  head 

And  in  the  closing  of  some  glorious  day 

Be  bold  to  tell  you  that  I  am  your  son ; 

When  I  will  wear  a  garment  all  of  blood 

And  stain  my  favours  in  a  bloody  mask. 

Which,  wash'd  away,  shall  scour  my  shame  with  it : 

And  that  shall  be  the  day,  whene'er  it  lights. 

That  this  same  child  of  honour  and  renown. 

This  gallant  Hotspur,  this  all-praised  knight, 

And  your  unthought-of  Harry  chance  to  meet. 

For  every  honour  sitting  on  his  helm, 

Would  they  were  multitudes,  and  on  my  head 

My  shames  redoubled !  for  the  time  will  come. 

That  I  shall  make  this  northern  youth  exchange 

His  glorious  deeds  for  my  indignities. 


196  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Percy  is  but  my  factor,  good  my  lord, 

To  engross  up  glorious  deeds  on  my  behalf; 

And  I  will  call  him  to  so  strict  account, 

That  he  shall  render  every  glory  up. 

Yea,  even  the  slightest  worship  of  his  time. 

Or  I  will  tear  the  reckoning  from  his  heart. 

This,  in  the  name  of  God,  I  promise  here : 

The  which  if  He  be  pleased  I  shall  perform, 

I  do  beseech  your  majesty  may  salve 

The  long-grown  wounds  of  my  intemperance  : 

If  not,  the  end  of  life  cancels  all  bands  ;  * 

And  I  will  die  a  hundred  thousand  deaths 

Ere  break  the  smallest  parcel  ^  of  this  vow. 

A   RED   FACE. 

I  never  see  thy  face  but  I  think  upon  hell-fire  and 
Dives  that  lived  in  purple  ;  for  there  he  is  in  his  robes, 
burning,  burning.  If  thou  wert  any  way  given  to 
virtue,  I  would  swear  by  thy  face ;  my  oath  should 
be  '  By  this  fire,  that  's  God's  angel :  '  but  thou  art 
altogether  given  over ;  and  wert  indeed,  but  for  the 
light  in  thy  face,  the  son  of  utter  darkness.  When 
thou  rannest  up  Gadshill  in  the  night  to  catch  my 
horse,  if  I  did  not  think  thou  hadst  been  an  ignis 
fatuus  or  a  ball  of  wildfire,  there's  no  purchase  in 
money.  O,  thou  art  a  perpetual  triumph,  an  ever- 
lasting bonfire-light  !  Thou  hast  saved  me  a  thou- 
sand marks  in  links  and  torches,  walking  with  thee  in 
the   night   betwixt   tavern  and  tavern :   but  the  sack 

1  Bonds.  *  Part. 


King  Henry  IK  197 

that  thou  hast  drunk  me  would  have  bought  me  lights 
as  good  cheap  at  the  dearest  chandler's  in  Europe. 
I  have  maintained  that  salamander  of  yours  with  fire 
any  time  this  two  and  thirty  years ;  God  reward  me 
for  it ! 


ACT   IV. 

A   GALLANT    WARRIOR. 

I  saw  young  Harry,  with  his  beaver  on, 

His  cuisses  '  on  his  thighs,  gallantly  arm'd, 

Rise  from  the  ground  like  featherM  Mercury, 

And  vaulted  with  such  ease  into  his  seat, 

As  if  an  angel  dropp'd  down  from  the  clouds, 

To  turn  and  wind  a  fiery  Pegasus, 

And  witch  ^  the  world  with  noble  horsemanship. 

hotspur's  impatience  for  the  battle. 

Let  them  come  ; 
They  come  like  sacrifices  in  their  trim. 
And  to  the  fire-eyed  maid  of  smoky  war 
All  hot  and  bleeding  will  we  offer  them : 
The  mailed  Mars  shall  on  his  altar  sit 
Up  to  the  ears  in  blood.     I  am  on  fire 
To  hear  this  rich  reprisal  is  so  nigh 
And  yet  not  ours.     Come,  let  me  take  my  horse. 
Who  is  to  bear  me,  like  a  thunderbolt 
Against  the  bosom  of  the  Prince  of  Wa^es : 

1  Armour.  2  Bewitch,  charm. 


198  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Harry  to  Harry  shall,  hot  horse  to  horse, 
Meet  and  ne'er  part  till  one  drop  down  a  corse. 
O,  that  Glendower  were  come  ! 


ACT    V. 

THE   TRUMPETS    OF    THE    SKIES. 

The  southern  wind 
Doth  play  the  trumpet  to  his  purposes, " 
And  by  his  hollow  whistling  in  the  leaves 
Foretells  a  tempest  and  a  blustering  day. 

PRINCE    henry's   gallant   CHALLENGE. 

Tell  your  nephew, 
The  Prince  of  Wales  doth  join  with  all  the  world 
In  praise  of  Henry  Percy:   by  my  hopes, 
This  present  enterprise  set  off  his  head, 
I  do  not  think  a  braver  gentleman, 
More  active-valiant  or  more  valiant-young, 
More  daring  or  more  bold,  is  now  alive, 
To  grace  this  latter  age  with  noble  deeds. 
For  my  part,  I  may  speak  it  to  my  shame, 
I  have  a  truant  been  to  chivalry ; 
And  so  I  hear  he  doth  account  me  too : 
Yet  this  before  my  father's  majesty  — 
I  am  content  that  he  shall  take  the  odds 
Of  his  great  name  and  estimation ; 
And  will,  to  save  the  blood  on  either  side, 
Try  fortune  with  him  in  a  single  fight. 


King  Henry  /K  199 


FALSTAFF'S    CATECHISM. 

Well,  H  is  no  matter:  honour  pricks  me  on.  Yea, 
but  how  if  honour  prick  me  off  when  I  come  on? 
how  then  ?  Can  honour  set  to  a  leg  ?  No :  or  an 
arm?  no:  or  take  away  the  grief  of  a  wound?  no. 
Honour  hath  no  skill  in  surgery,  then?  no.  What  is 
honour?  a  word.  What  is  in  that  word  honour? 
what  is  that  honour  ?  air.  A  trim  reckoning !  Who 
hath  it  ?  He  that  died  o'  Wednesday.  Doth  he  feel 
it?  no.  Doth  he  hear  it  ?  no.  'T  is  insensible,  then? 
Yea,  to  the  dead.  But  will  it  not  live  with  the  living? 
no.  Why?  Detraction  will  not  suffer  it.  Therefore 
I  '11  none  of  it.  Honour  is  a  mere  scutcheon  : '  and 
so  ends  my  catechism. 

LIFE   DEMANDS    ACTION. 

0  gentlemen,  the  time  of  life  is  short ! 

To  spend  that  shortness  basely  were  too  long. 
If  life  did  ride  upon  a  dial's  point, 
Still  ending  at  the  arrival  of  an  hour. 

THE   DEATH    OF    HOTSPUR. 

Hotspur.     O,  Harry,  thou  hast  robb'd  me  of  my 
youth  ! 

1  better  brook  the  loss  of  brittle  life 

Than  those  proud  titles  thou  hast  won  of  me ; 
They  wound  my  thoughts  worse  than  thy  sword  my 
flesh: 

*  Painted  heraldry  in  funerals. 


200  Beauties  of  Shakspearc. 

But  thought 's  the  slave  of  life,  and  life  time's  fool ; 
And  time,  that  takes  survey  of  all  the  world, 
Must  have  a  stop.     O,  I  could  prophesy, 
But  that  the  earthy  and  cold  hand  of  death 
Lies  on  my  tongue :  no,  Percy,  thou  art  dust 
And  food  for  —  \_Dies. 

Prince  Henry.     For  worms,  brave  Percy  :  fare  thee 
well,  great  heart ! 
lU-weaved  ambition,  how  much  art  thou  shrunk  ! 
When  that  this  body  did  contain  a  spirit, 
A  kingdom  for  it  was  too  small  a  bound ; 
But  now  two  paces  of  the  vilest  earth 
Is  room  enough.     This  earth  that  bears  thee  dead 
Bears  not  alive  so  stout  a  gentleman. 
If  thou  wert  sensible  of  courtesy, 
I  should  not  make  so  dear  a  show  of  zeal : 
But  let  my  favours  '  hide  thy  mangled  face ; 
And,  even  in  thy  behalf,  I  '11  thank  myself 
For  doing  these  fair  rites  of  tenderness. 
Adieu,  and  take  thy  praise  with  thee  to  heaven ! 
Thy  ignominy  sleep  with  thee  in  the  grave. 
But  not  remember'd  in  thy  epitaph  ! 

1  Scarf,  with  which  he  covers  Percy's  face. 


■  KING  HENRY  IV» 

PART  II. 
INDUCTION. 

RUMOUR. 

I,  from  the  orient  to  the  drooping  west, 
Making  the  wind  my  post-horse,  still  unfold 
The  acts  commenced  on  this  ball  of  earth  : 
Upon  my  tongues  continual  slanders  ride, 
The  which  in  every  language  I  pronounce, 
Stuffing  the  ears  of  men  with  false  reports. 
I  speak  of  peace,  while  covert  enmity 
Under  the  smile  of  safety  wounds  the  world  : 
And  who  but  Rumour,  who  but  only  I, 
Make  fearful  musters  and  prepared  defence, 
Whiles  the  big  year,  swoln  with  some  other  grief, 
Is  thought  with  child  by  the  stern  tyrant  war, 
And  no  such  matter?     Rumour  is  a  pipe 
Blown  by  surmises,  jealousies,  conjectures, 
And  of  so  easy  and  so  plain  a  stop 
That  the  blunt  monster  with  uncounted  heads, 
The  still-discordant  wavering  multitude. 
Can  play  upon  it. 


202  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


ACT  I. 


CONTENTION. 


Every  minute  now 
Should  be  the  father  of  some  stratagem : 
The  times  are  wild :  contention,  like  a  horse 
Full  of  high  feeding,  madly  hath  broke  loose. 
And  bears  down  all  before  him, 

A   POST   MESSENGER. 

My  lord,  Sir  John  Umfrevile  turn'd  me  back 
With  joyful  tidings  ;  and,  being  better  horsed, 
Out-rode  me.     After  him  came  spurring  hard 
A  gentleman  almost  forspent  *  with  speed. 
That  stopped  by  me  to  breathe  his  bloodied  horse. 
He  ask'd  the  way  to  Chester ;  and  of  him 
I  did  demand  what  news  from  Shrewsbury : 
He  told  me  that  rebellion  had  bad  luck. 
And  that  young  Harry  Percy's  spur  was  cold. 
With  that,  he  gave  his  able  horse  the  head, 
And  bending  forward  struck  his  armed  heels 
Against  the  panting  sides  of  his  poor  jade 
Up  to  the  rowel-head,  and  starting  so 
He  seem'd  in  running  to  devour  the  way, 
Staying  no  longer  question. 

1  Exhausted. 


King  Henry  IV,  203 


A   MESSENGER    WITH    ILL   NEWS. 

This  man's  brow,  like  to  a  title-leaf, 
Foretells  the  nature  of  a  tragic  volume : 
So  looks  the  strand  whereon  the  imperious  flood 
Hath  left  a  witnessed  usurpation.' 

Thou  tremblest ;  and  the  whiteness  in  thy  cheek 

Is  apter  than  thy  tongue  to  tell  thy  errand. 

Even  such  a  man,  so  faint,  so  spiritless, 

So  dull,  so  dead  in  look,  so  woe-begone. 

Drew  Priam's  curtain  in  the  dead  of  night, 

And  would  have  told  him,  half  his  Troy  was  burnt  \^ 

Yet  for  all  this,  say  not  that  Percy  's  dead. 
I  see  a  strange  confession  in  thine  eye  : 
Thou  shakest  thy  head  and  hold'st  it  fear  or  sin 
To  speak  a  truth.      If  he  be  slain,  say  so  ; 
The  tongue  offends  not  that  reports  his  death : 
And  he  doth  sin  that  doth  belie  the  dead, 
Not  he  which  says  the  dead  is  not  alive. 
Yet  the  first  bringer  of  unwelcome  news 
Hath  but  a  losing  office,  and  his  tongue 
Sounds  ever  after  as  a  sullen  bell, 
Remember'd  knoUing  a  departing  friend. 

THE   LOSS   OF   A   LEADER. 

In  few,  his  death,  whose  spirit  lent  a  fire 
Even  to  the  dullest  peasant  in  his  camp, 

1  An  attestation  of  its  ravage. 


204  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Being  bruited  once,  took  fire  and  heat  away 
From  the  best-temper'd  courage  in  his  troops ; 
For  from  his  metal  was  his  party  steeFd ; 
Which  once  in  him  abated,  all  the  rest 
Turn'd  on  themselves,  like  dull  and  heavy  lead : 
And  as  the  thing  that 's  heavy  in  itself, 
Upon  enforcement  flies  with  greatest  speed, 
So  did  our  men,  heavy  in  Hotspur's  loss, 
Lend  to  this  weight  such  lightness  with  their  fear 
That  arrows  fled  not  swifter  toward  their  aim 
Than  did  our  soldiers,  aiming  at  their  safety, 
Fly  from  the  field. 

GREATER    GRIEFS    DESTROY    THE    LESS. 

In  poison  there  is  physic ;  and  these  news, 
Having  been  well,  that  would  have  made  me  sick, 
Being  sick,  have  in  some  measure  made  me  well : 
And  as  the  wretch,  whose  fever-weaken'd  joints. 
Like  strengthless  hinges  buckle  under  life, 
Impatient  of  his  fit,  breaks  like  a  fire 
Out  of  his  keeper's  arms,  even  so  my  limbs, 
Weaken'd  with  grief,  being  now  enraged  with  grief, 
Are  thrice  themselves.     Hence,  therefore,  thou  nice  ' 

crutch  ! 
A  scaly  gauntlet  now,  with  joints  of  steel 
Must  glove  this  hand  :  and  hence  thou  sickly  quoif !  '^ 
Thou  art  a  guard  too  wanton  for  the  head 
Which  princes,  flashed  with  conquest,  aim  to  hit. 
Now  bind  my  brows  with  iron ;  and  approach 

»  Trifling.  «  Cap. 


King  Henry  IV,  205 

The  ragged\st  hour  that  time  and  spite  dare  bring 
To  frown  upon  the  enraged  Northumberland  ! 
Let  heaven  kiss  earth  !  now  let  not  nature's  hand 
Keep  the  wild  flood  confined  !  let  order  die  ! 
And  let  this  world  no  longer  be  a  stage 
To  feed  contention  in  a  lingering  act ; 
But  let  one  spirit  of  the  first-born  Cain 
Reign  in  all  bosoms,  that,  each  heart  being  set 
On  bloody  courses,  the  rude  scene  rnay  end, 
And  darkness  be  the  burier  of  the  dead  ! 

THE   FICKLENESS   OF    THE   VULGAR. 

An  habitation  giddy  and  unsure 
Hath  he  that  buildeth  on  the  vulgar  heart. 
O  thou  fond  many,'  with  what  loud  applause 
Didst  thou  beat  heaven  with  blessing  Bolingbroke, 
Before  he  was  what  thou  wouldst  have  him  be  ! 
And  being  now  trimm'd  ^  in  thine  own  desires. 
Thou,  beastly  feeder,  art  so  full  of  him, 
That  thou  provokest  thyself  to  cast  him  up. 


ACT  II. 

A   MIRROR    OF   FASHION. 

To  do  brave  acts :  he  was  indeed  the  glass 
Wherein  the  noble  youth  did  dress  themselves : 
He  had  no  legs  that  practised  not  his  gait ; 
And  speaking  thick,  which  nature  made  his  blemish, 

1  Multitude.  2  Dressed. 


2o6  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Became  the  accents  of  the  valiant ; 

For  those  that  could  speak  low  and  tardily 

Would  turn  their  own  perfection  to  abuse, 

To  seem  like  him :   so  that  in  speech,  in  gait, 

In  diet,  in  affections  of  delight, 

In  military  rules,  humours  of  blood. 

He  was  the  mark  and  glass,  copy  and  book, 

That  fashion'd  others. 


ACT  III. 

APOSTROPHE  TO   SLEEP. 

O  sleep,  O  gentle  sleep, 
Nature's  soft  nurse,  how  have  I  frighted  thee. 
That  thou  no  more  wilt  weigh  my  eyelids  down, 
And  steep  my  senses  in  forgetfulness  ? 
Why  rather,  sleep,  liest  thou  in  smoky  cribs, 
Upon  uneasy  pallets  stretching  thee 
And  hush'd  with  buzzing  night-flies  to  thy  slumber, 
Than  in  the  perfumed  chambers  of  the  great, 
Under  the  canopies  of  costly  state. 
And  luird  with  sounds  of  sweetest  melody  ? 
O  thou  dull  god,  why  liest  thou  with  the  vile 
In  loathsome  beds,  and  leavest  the  kingly  couch 
A  watch-case  or  a  common  Uarum-bell  ? 
Wilt  thou  upon  the  high  and  giddy  mast 
Seal  up  the  ship-boy's  eyes,  and  rock  his  brains  . 
In  cradle  of  the  rude  imperious  surge ; 
And  in  the  visitation  of  the  winds, 


King  Henry  IV.  207 

Who  take  the  ruffian  billows  by  the  top, 
CurHng  their  monstrous  heads  and  hanging  them 
With  deafening  clamour  in  the  slippery  clouds, 
That,  with  the  hurly,'  death  itself  awakes  ? 
Canst  thou,  O  partial  sleep,  give  thy  repose 
To  the  wet  sea-boy  in  an  hour  so  rude, 
And  in  the  calmest  and  most  stillest  night. 
With  all  appliances  and  means  to  boot. 
Deny  it  to  a  king  ?     Then  happy  low,  lie  down  ! 
Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown. 


HOW    TO    CHOOSE    A    MAN. 

Will  you  tell  me,  Master  Shallow,  how  to  choose 
a  man  ?  Care  I  for  the  limb,  the  thewes,  the  stat- 
ure, bulk,  and  big  assemblance  of  a  man  !  Give  me 
the  spirit.  Master  Shallow. 


ACT   IV. 

CONTRASTS. 

Against  ill  chances  men  are  ever  merry ; 
But  heaviness  foreruns  the  good  event. 

THE  CHARACTER  OF  KING  HENRY  V.  BY  HIS  FATHEIl 

He  is  gracious,  if  he  be  observed :  ^ 
He  hath  a  tear  for  pity  and  a  hand 
Open  as  day  for  melting  charity : 

1  Noise.  '  Has  an  attention  shown  him. 


2o8  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Yet  notwithstanding,  being  incensed,  he  's  flint, 
As  humorous  as  winter  and  as  sudden 
As  flaws  congealed  in  the  spring  of  day. 
His  temper,  therefore,  must  be  well  observed : 
Chide  him  for  faults,  and  do  it  reverently. 
When  you  perceive  his  blood  inclined  to  mirth ; 
But,  being  moody,  give  him  Hne  and  scope, 
Till  that  his  passions,  like  a  whale  on  ground, 
Confound  themselves  with  working. 

ON   FORTUNE. 

Will  Fortune  never  come  with  both  hands  full, 
But  write  her  fair  words  still  in  foulest  letters? 
She  either  gives  a  stomach  and  no  food ; 
Such  are  the  poor,  in  health  ;  or  else  a  feast 
And  takes  away  the  stomach ;  such  are  the  rich. 
That  have  abundance  and  enjoy  it  not. 

REFLECTIONS    ON   A    CROWN. 

O  polish'd  perturbation  !  golden  care  ! 
That  keep'st  the  ports  ^  of  slumber  open  wide 
To  many  a  watchful  night !  sleep  with  it  now ! 
Yet  not  so  sound  and  half  so  deeply  sweet 
As  he  whose  brow,  with  homely  biggen  ^  bound. 
Snores  out  the  watch  of  night.     O  majesty  ! 
When  thou  dost  pinch  thy  bearer,  thou  dost  sit 
Like  a  rich  armour  worn  in  heat  of  day. 
That  scalds  with  safety. 

1  Gates.  •  Nightcap. 


King  Henry  IV,  209 


REFLECTIONS    ON   GOLD. 

How  quickly  nature  falls  into  revolt 

When  gold  becomes  her  object ! 

For  this  the  foolish  over-careful  fathers 

Have  broke  their  sleep  with  thoughts,  their  brains 

with  care, 
Their  bones  with  industry ; 
For  this  they  have  engross'd  and  piled  up 
The  cankerM  heaps  of  strange-achieved  gold ; 
For  this  they  have  been  thoughtful  to  invest 
Their  sons  with  arts  and  martial  exercises : 
When,  like  the  bee,  tolling  '  from  every  flower 
The  virtuous  sweets. 

Our  thighs  pack'd  with  wax,  our  mouths  with  honey, 
We  bring  it  to  the  hive,  and,  like  the  bees, 
Are  murder'd  for  our  pains. 

SCENE   BETWEEN   PRINCE    HENRY    AND    HIS     FATHER. 

King.     Come  hither  to  me,  Harry. 
Depart  the  chamber,  leave  us  here  alone. 

[Exeunt  Warwick  and  the  rest. 
Prince.     I  never  thought  to  hear  you  speak  again. 
King.      Thy   wish    was    father,    Harry,    to    that 
thought : 
I  stay  too  long  by  thee,  I  weary  thee. 
Dost  thou  so  hunger  for  mine  empty  chair 
That  thou  wilt  needs  invest  thee  with  mine  honours 

»  Taking  tolL 


2IO  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Before  thy  hour  be  ripe  ?     O  fooHsh  youth  ! 

Thou  seek'st  the  greatness  that  will  overwhelm  thee. 

Stay  but  a  little  ;  for  my  cloud  of  dignity 

Is  held  from  falling  with  so  weak  a  wind 

That  it  will  quickly  drop :   my  day  is  dim. 

Thou  hast  stolen  that  which  after  some  few  hours 

Were  thine  without  offence ;   and,  at  my  death 

Thou  hast  seaPd  up  my  expectation  : ' 

Thy  life  did  manifest  thou  lovedst  me  not, 

And  thou  wilt  have  me  die  assured  of  it. 

Thou  hidest  a  thousand  daggers  in  thy  thoughts, 

Which  thou  hast  whetted  on  thy  stony  heart, 

To  stab  at  half  an  hour  of  my  life. 

What!  canst  thou  not  forbear  me  half  an  hour? 

Then  get  thee  gone  and  dig  my  grave  thyself. 

And  bid  the  merry  bells  ring  to  thine  ear 

That  thou  art  crowned,  not  that  I  am  dead. 

Let  all  the  tears  that  should  bedew  my  hearse 

Be  drops  of  balm  to  sanctify  thy  head : 

Only  compound  me  with  forgotten  dust ; 

Give  that  which  gave  thee  life  unto  the  worms. 

Pluck  down  my  officers,  break  my  decrees  ; 

For  now  a  time  is  come  to  mock  at  form  : 

Harry  the  Fifth  is  crownM  :  up,  vanity  ! 

Down,  royal  state  !  all  you  sage  counsellors,  hence  ! 

And  to  the  English  court  assemble  now, 

From  every  region,  apes  of  idleness  ! 

Now,  neighbour  confines,  purge  you  of  your  scum : 

Have  you  a  ruffian,  that  will  swear,  drink,  dance, 

Revel  the  night ;  rob,  murder,  and  commit 

1  Confirmed  my  opinion. 


King  Henry  IV,  211 

The  oldest  sins  the  newest  kind  of  ways? 
Be  happy,  he  will  trouble  you  no  more  ; 
England  shall  double  gild  his  treble  guilt, 
England  shall  give  him  office,  honour,  might ; 
For  the  fifth  Harry  from  curb'd  license  plucks 
The  muzzle  of  restraint,  and  the  wild  dog 
Shall  flesh  his  tooth  on  every  innocent. 

0  my  poor  kingdom,  sick  with  civil  blows  ! 
When  that  my  care  could  not  withhold  thy  riots, 
What  wilt  thou  do  when  riot  is  thy  care  ? 

O,  thou  wilt  be  a  wilderness  again, 
Peopled  with  wolves,  thy  old  inhabitants ! 

Prince.     O,    pardon  me,    my    liege !    but  for    vcv^ 
tears,  [Kneeling. 

The  moist  impediments  unto  my  speech, 

1  had  forestalled  this  dear  and  deep  rebuke 
Ere  you  with  grief  had  spoke  and  I  had  heard 
The  course  of  it  so  far.     There  is  your  crown ; 
And  He  that  wears  the  crown  immortally 
Long  guard  it  yours  !     If  I  affect  it  more 
Than  as  your  honour  and  as  your  renown, 
Let  me  no  more  from  this  obedience  rise, 
Which  my  most  iitward  true  and  duteous  spirit 
Teacheth,  this  prostrate  and  exterior  bending. 
God  witness  with  me,  when  I  here  came  in, 

And  found  no  course  of  breath  within  your  majesty, 

How  cold  it  struck  my  heart  !     If  I  do  feign, 

O,  let  me  in  my  present  wildness  die 

And  never  live  to  show  the  incredulous  world 

The  noble  change  that  I  have  purposed ! 

Coming  to  look  on  you,  thinking  you  dead. 


2 1 2  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

And  dead  almost,  my  liege,  to  think  you  were, 

I  spake  unto  this  crown  as  having  sense. 

And  thus  upbraided  it :  '  The  care  on  thee  depending 

Hath  fed  upon  the  body  of  my  father ; 

Therefore,  thou  best  of  gold  art  worst  of  gold  : 

Other,  less  fine  in  carat,  is  more  precious. 

Preserving  life  in  medicine  potable  : 

But  thou,  most  fine,  most  honour'd,  most  renown'd, 

Hast  eat  thy  bearer  up.'     Thus,  my  most  royal  liege, 

Accusing  it,  I  put  it  on  my  head. 

To  try  with  it,  as  with  an  enemy 

That  had  before  my  face  murder'd  my  father, 

The  quarrel  of  a  true  inheritor. 

But  if  it  did  infect  my  blood  with  joy. 

Or  swell  my  thoughts  to  any  strain  of  pride ; 

If  any  rebel  or  vain  spirit  of  mine 

Did  with  the  least  affection  of  a  welcome 

Give  entertainment  to  the  might  of  it, 

Let  God  for  ever  keep  it  from  my  head ! 

And  make  me  as  the  poorest  vassal  is 

That  doth  with  awe  and  terror  kneel  to  it ! 

King.     O  my  son  ! 
God  put  it  in  thy  mind  to  take  it  hence. 
That  thou  mightst  win  the  more  thy  father's  love, 
Pleading  so  wisely  in  excuse  of  it ! 
Come  hither,  Harry,  sit  thou  by  my  bed ; 
And  hear,  I  think,  the  very  latest  counsel 
That  ever  I  shall  breathe.     Heaven  knows,  my  son, 
By  what  by-paths  and  indirect  crook'd  ways 
I  met  this  crown ;  and  I  myself  know  well 
How  troublesome  it  sat  upon  my  head. 


King  Henry  /K  213 

To  thee  it  shall  descend  with  better  quiet, 

Better  opinion,  better  confirmation  ; 

For  all  the  soiP  of  the  achievement  goes 

With  me  into  the  earth.     It  seem'd  in  me 

But  as  an  honour  snatch'd  with  boisterous  hand. 

And  I  had  many  living  to  upbraid 

My  gain  of  it  by  their  assistances  ; 

Which  daily  grew  to  quarrel  and  to  bloodshed. 

Wounding  supposed  peace  :  all  these  bold  fears  ^ 

Thou  see'st,  with  peril  I  have  answered ; 

For  all  my  reign  hath  been  but  as  a  scene 

Acting  that  argument :  and  now  my  death 

Changes  the  mode ;  ^  for  what  in  me  was  purchased, ^ 

Falls  upon  thee  in  a  more  fairer  sort ; 

So  thou  the  garland  wear'st  successively. 

Yet,  though  thou  stand'st  more  sure  than  I  could  do. 

Thou  art  not  firm  enough,  since  griefs  are  green ; 

And  all  my  friends,  which  thou  must  make  thy  friends. 

Have  but  their  stings  and  teeth  newly  ta'en  out ; 

By  whose  fell  working  I  was  first  advanced 

And  by  whose  power  I  well  might  lodge  a  fear 

To  be  again  displaced ;  which  to  avoid, 

I  cut  them  off;  and  had  a  purpose  now 

To  lead  out  many  to  the  Holy  Land, 

Lest  rest  and  lying  still  might  make  them  look 

Too  near  unto  my  state.     Therefore,  my  Harry, 

Be  it  thy  course  to  busy  giddy  minds 

With  foreign  quarrels;   that  action,  hence  borne  out, 

May  waste  the  memory  of  the  former  days. 

1  Spot,  dirt.  2  Fris^hts.  3  State  of  things. 

*  Purchase,  in  Shakspearc,  frequently  means  stolen  goods. 


214  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

More  would  I,  but  my  lungs  are  wasted  so 
That  strength  of  speech  is  utterly  denied  me. 
How  I  came  by  the  crown,  O  God  forgive 
And  grant  it  may  with  thee  in  true  peace  live  ! 

Prince.     My  gracious     2ge, 
You  won  it,  wore  it,  kept  it,  gave  it  me ; 
Then  plain  and  right  must  my  possession  be  : 
Which  I  with  more  than  with  a  common  pain 
'Gainst  all  the  world  will  rightfully  maintain. 


ACT  V. 

ADDRESS  OF  THE   CHIEF  JUSTICE  TO  KING  HENRY  V. 
WHOM  HE  HAD  IMPRISONED. 

Whiles  I  was  busy  for  the  commonwealth, 
Your  highness  pleased  to  forget  my  place. 
The  majesty  and  power  of  law  and  justice. 
The  image  of  the  king  whom  I  presented, 
And  struck  me  in  my  very  seat  of  judgement ; 
Whereon,  as  an  offender  to  your  father, 
I  gave  bold  way  to  my  authority 
And  did  commit  you.     If  the  deed  were  ill, 
Be  you  contented,  wearing  now  the  garland, » 
To  have  a  son  set  your  decrees  at  nought. 
To  pluck  down  justice  from  your  awful  bench, 
To  trip  the  course  of  law  and  blunt  the  sword 
That  guards  the  peace  and  safety  of  your  person ; 
Nay,  more,  to  spurn  at  your  most  royal  image 

1  Crown. 


King  Henry  IV.  215 

And  mock  your  workings  in  a  second  body. ' 

Question  your  royal  thoughts,  make  the  case  yours ; 

Be  now  the  father  and  propose  a  son, 

Hear  your  own  dignity  so  much  profaned, 

See  your  most  dreadful  laws  so  loosely  slighted, 

Behold  yourself  so  by  a  son  disdained  ; 

And  then  imagine  me  taking  your  part 

And  in  your  power  soft  silencing  your  son. 

THE   king's    reply. 

You  are  right,  justice,  and  you  weigh  this  well ; 

Therefore  still  bear  the  balance  and  the  sword : 

And  I  do  wish  your  honours  may  increase, 

Till  you  do  live  to  see  a  son  of  mine 

Offend  you  and  obey  you,  as  I  did. 

So  shall  I  live  to  speak  my  father's  words : 

'  Happy  am  I,  that  have  a  man  so  bold. 

That  dares  do  justice  on  my  proper  son ; 

And  not  less  happy,  having  such  a  son, 

That  would  deliver  up  his  greatness  so 

Into  the  hands  of  justice.'     You  did  commit  me  : 

For  which,  I  do  commit  into  your  hand 

The  unstained  sword  that  you  have  used  to  bear ; 

With  this  remembrance,  that  you  use  the  same 

With  the  like  bold,  just  and  impartial  spirit 

As  you  have  done  'gainst  me. 

1  Treat  with  contempt  your  acts  executed  by  a  representative. 


KING    HENRY   V. 

Chorus, 
invocation  to  the  muse. 

O  for  a  Muse  of  fire,  that  would  ascend 
The  brightest  heaven  of  invention, 
A  kingdom  for  a  stage,  princes  to  act 
And  monarchs  to  behold  the  swelling  scene  ! 
Then  should  the  warlike  Harry,  like  himself, 
Assume  the  port  of  Mars  ;  and  at  his  heels, 
Leash'd  in  like  hounds,  should  famine,  sword,  an^j*  fire 
Crouch  for  employment. 


ACT  I. 

CONSIDERATION. 

Consideration,  like  an  angel,  came 

And  whipped  the  offending  Adam  out  of  him, 

Leaving  his  body  as  a  paradise, 

To  envelope  and  contain  celestial  spirits. 

PERFECTIONS   OF    KING    HENRY   V. 

Hear  him  but  reason  in  divinity. 
And,  all-admiring  with  an  inward  wish 


King  Henry  V.  217 

You  would  desire  the  king  were  made  a  prelate : 

Hear  him  debate  of  commonwealth  affairs, 

You  would  say  it  hath  been  all  in  all  his  study : 

List '  his  discourse  of  war,  and  you  shall  hear 

A  fearful  battle  rendered  you  in  music : 

Turn  him  to  any  cause  of  policy, 

The  Gordian  knot  of  it  he  will  unloose, 

Familiar  as  his  garter :   that,  when  he  speaks, 

The  air,  a  charter'd  libertine,  is  still. 

And  the  mute  wonder  lurketh  in  men's  ears, 

To  steal  his  sweet  and  honey'd  sentences. 


THE   COMMONWEALTH    OF    BEES. 

So  work  the  honey  bees. 
Creatures  that  by  a  rule  in  nature  teach 
The  act  of  order  to  a  peopled  kingdom 
They  have  a  king,  and  officers  of  sorts ;  ^ 
Where  some,  like  magistrates,  correct  at  home, 
Others,  like  merchants,  venture  trade  abroad. 
Others,  like  soldiers,  armed  in  their  stings. 
Make  boot  upon  the  summer's  velvet  buds. 
Which  pillage  they  with  merry  march  bring  home 
To  the  tent-royal  of  their  emperor ; 
Who,  busied  in  his  majesty,  surveys 
The  singing  masons  building  roofs  of  gold, 
The  civil  ^  citizens  kneading  up  the  honey, 
The  poor  mechanic  porters  crowding  in, 
Their  heavy  burdens  at  his  narrow  gate, 

1  Listen  to.  *  Different  degrees.  3  Sober,  grave. 


2 1 8  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

The  sad-eyed  justice,  with  his  surly  hum, 
DeHvering  o'er  to  executors  *  pale 
The  lazy  yawning  drone. 


ACT   II. 

Chorus, 
warlike  spirit. 

Now  all  the  youth  of  England  are  on  fire, 
And  silken  dalliance  in  the  wardrobe  lies  : 
Now  thrive  the  armourers,  and  honour's  thought 
Reigns  solely  in  the  breast  of  every  man : 
They  sell  the  pasture  now  to  buy  the  horse, 
Followins:  the  mirror  of  all  Christian  kings. 
With  winged  heels,  as  English  Mercuries. 
For  now  sits  Expectation  in  the  air, 
And  hides  a  sword  from  hilts  unto  the  point 
With  crowns  imperial,  crowns  and  coronets, 
Promised  to  Harry  and  his  followers. 

APOSTROPHE   TO   ENGLAND. 

O  England  !  model  to  thy  inward  greatness. 

Like  little  body  with  a  mighty  heart. 

What  mightst  thou  do,  that  honour  would  thee  do, 

Were  all  thy  children  kind  and  natural  ! 

But  see  thy  fault !     France  hath  in  thee  found  out 

1  Executioners, 


King  Henry  V.  219 

A  nest  of  hollow  bosoms,  which  he  '  fills 
With  treacherous  crowns. 


TREASON   AND    MURDER. 

Treason  and  murder  ever  kept  together, 

As  two  yoke-devils  sworn  to  either's  purpose, 

Working  so  grossly  in  a  natural  cause. 

That  admiration  did  not  hoop  at  them : 

But  thou,  'gainst  all  proportion,  didst  bring  in 

Wonder  to  wait  on  treason  and  on  murder : 

And  whatsoever  cunning  fiend  it  was 

That  wrought  upon  thee  so  preposterously 

Hath  got  the  voice  in  hell  for  excellence  : 

All  other  devils  that  suggest  by  treasons 

Do  botch  and  bungle  up  damnation 

With  patches,  colours,  and  with  forms  being  fetched 

From  glistering  semblances  of  piety  ; 

But  he  that  tempered  thee  bade  thee  stand  up, 

Gave  thee  no  instance  why  thou  shouldst  do  treason, 

Unless  to  dub  thee  with  the  name  of  traitor. 

If  that  same  demon  that  hath  gull'd  thee  thus 

Should  with  his  lion  gait  walk  the  whole  world. 

He  might  return  to  vasty  Tartar  back, 

And  tell  the  legions  ♦  I  can  never  win 

A  soul  so  easy  as  that  Englishman's.' 

FALSE   APPEARANCES. 

O,  how  hast  thou  with  jealousy  infected 

The  sweetness  of  affiance  !     Show  men  dutiful  ? 

1  i.e.  The  Kin^  of  France. 


2  20  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Why,  so  didst  thou :   seem  they  grave  and  learned  ? 
Why,  so  didst  thou:   come  they  of  noble  family? 
Why,  so  didst  thou :   seem  they  religious  ? 
Why,  so  didst  thou :   or  are  they  spare  in  diet, 
Free  from  gross  passion  or  of  mirth  or  anger. 
Constant  in  spirit,  not  swerving  with  the  blood, 
Garnish'd  and  deck'd  in  modest  complement,' 
Not  working  with  the  eye  without  the  ear. 
And,  but  in  purged  judgement,  trusting  neither? 
Such  and  so  finely  bolted  ^  didst  thou  seem  : 
And  thus  thy  fall  hath  left  a  kind  of  blot. 
To  mark  the  full-fraught  man,  and  best  indued  ^ 
With  some  suspicion. 

DAME   QUICKLY'S    ACCOUNT   OF   FALSTAFF's     DEATH. 

Nay,  sure,  he 's  not  in  hell :  he  's  in  Arthur's  bosom, 
if  ever  man  went  to  Arthur's  bosom.  A'  made  a 
finer  end  and  went  away  an  it  had  been  any  christom  * 
child ;  a'  parted  even  just  between  twelve  and  one, 
even  at  the  turning  o'  the  tide  ;  for  after  I  saw  him 
fumble  with  the  sheets  and  play  with  flowers  and 
smile  upon  his  fingers'  ends,  I  knew  there  was  but 
one  way ;  for  his  nose  was  as  sharp  as  a  pen,  and  a' 
babbled  of  green  fields.  'How  now,  Sir  John?' 
quoth  I :  '  what,  man !  be  o'  good  cheer.'  So  a' 
cried  out,  *  God,  God,  God  ! '  three  or  four  times  : 
now  I,  to  comfort  him,  bid  him  a'  should  not  think 
of  God ;  I  hoped  there  was  no  need  to  trouble  him- 

1  Accomplishment.  2  Sifted.  3  Endowed. 

*  Chrisom  :  a  cliild  not  more  tlian  a  month  old. 


King  Henry  V,  221 

self  with  any  such  thoughts  yet.  So  a'  bade  me  lay 
more  clothes  on  his  feet :  I  put  my  hand  into  the  bed 
and  felt  them,  and  they  were  as  cold  as  any  stone. 

AN    innkeeper's    CREED. 

Let  senses  rule ;  the  word  is  '  Pitch  and  Pay :  ' 
Trust  none ; 

For  oaths  are  straws,  men's  faiths  are  wafer-cakes. 
And  hold-fast  is  the  only  dog,  my  duck. 

KING    henry's    CHARACTER    BY    THE    CONSTABLE    OF 
FRANCE. 

You  are  too  much  mistaken  in  this  king : 
Question  your  grace  the  late  ambassadors, 
With  what  great  state  he  heard  their  embassy. 
How  well  supplied  with  noble  counsellors. 
How  modest  in  exception,'  and  withal 
How  terrible  in  constant  resolution. 
And  you  shall  find  his  vanities  forespent  ^ 
Were  but  the  outside  of  the  Roman  Brutus, 
Covering  discretion  with  a  coat  of  folly  ; 
As  gardeners  do  with  ordure  hide  those  roots 
That  shall  first  spring,  and  be  most  delicate. 

ENGLISH    SUPERIORITY    OVER    THE   FRENCH. 

He  is  bred  out  of  that  bloody  strain 
That  haunted  us  in  our  familiar  paths  : 

1  In  making  objections.  2  Wasted,  exhausted. 


22  2  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Witness  our  too  much  memorable  shame 

When  Cressy  battle  fatally  was  struck, 

And  all  our  princes  captived  by  the  hand 

Of  that  black  name,  Edward,  Black  Prince  of  Wales  ; 

Whiles  that  his  mountain  sire,  on  mountain  standing. 

Up  in  the  air,  crown'd  with  the  golden  sun. 

Saw  his  heroical  seed,  and  smiled  to  see  him, 

Mangle  the  work  of  nature,  and  deface 

The  patterns  that  by  God  and  by  French  fathers 

Had  twenty  years  been  made.     This  is  a  stem 

Of  that  victorious  stock. 


ACT    III. 

DESCRIPTION   OF   A   FLEET    SETTING    SAIL. 

Suppose  that  you  have  seen 
The  well-appointed  king  at  Hampton  pier 
Embark  his  royalty ;  and  his  brave  fleet 
With  silken  streamers  the  young  Phoebus  fanning : 
Play  with  your  fancies,  and  in  them  behold. 
Upon  the  hempen  tackle  ship-boys  climbing ; 
Hear  the  shrill  whistle,  which  doth  order  give 
To  sounds  confused ;  behold  the  threaden  sails, 
Borne  with  the  invisible  and  creeping  wind, 
Draw  the  huge  bottoms  through  the  furrowed  sea, 
Breasting  the  lofty  surge. 


King  Henry  V.  223 

THE    dauphin's    HORSE. 

Dauphin.  What  a  long  night  is  this  !  I  will  not 
change  my  horse  with  any  that  treads  but  on  four 
pasterns.  9^»  ^"^^  •  ^^  bounds  from  the  earth,  as  if 
his  entrails  were  hairs ;  le  cheval  volant,  the  Pegasus, 
chez  les  narines  de  feu  !  When  I  bestride  him,  I 
soar,  I  am  a  hawk :  he  trots  the  air ;  the  earth  sings 
when  he  touches  it ;  the  basest  horn  of  his  hoof  is 
more  musical  than  the  pipe  of  Hermes. 

Orleans.     He  's  of  the  colour  of  the  nutmeg. 

Dauphin.  And  of  the  heat  of  the  ginger.  It  is  a 
beast  for  Perseus :  he  is  pure  air  and  fire ;  and  the 
dull  elements  of  earth  and  water  never  appear  in  him, 
but  only  in  patient  stillness  while  his  rider  mounts 
him  :  he  is  indeed  a  horse  ;  and  all  other  jades  you 
may  call  beasts. 

Co7istable.  Indeed,  my  lord,  it  is  a  most  absolute 
and  excellent  horse. 

Dauphi?t.  It  is  the  prince  of  palfreys  ;  his  neigh  is 
like  the  bidding  of  a  monarch,  and  his  countenance 
enforces  homage. 


ACT    IV. 

DESCRIPTION   OF    NIGHT   IN   A    CAMP. 

From  camp  to  camp  through  the  foul  womb  of  night 
The  hum  of  either  army  stilly  '  sounds, 
That  the  fixM  sentinels  almost  receive 

1  Gently,  lowly. 


224  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

The  secret  whispers  of  each  other's  watch : 

Fire  answers  fire,  and  through  their  paly  flames 

Each  battle  sees  the  other's  umber'd  *  face : 

Steed  threatens  steed,  in  high  and  boastful  neighs 

Piercing  the  night's  dull  ear ;  and  from  the  tents 

The  armourers,  accomplishing  the  knights, 

With  busy  hammers  closing  rivets  up, 

Give  dreadful  note  of  preparation  : 

The  country  cocks  do  crow,  the  clocks  do  toll, 

And  the  third  hour  of  drowsy  morning  name. 

Proud  of  their  numbers  and  secure  in  soul, 

The  confident  and  over-lusty  2' French 

Do  the  low-rated  English  play  at  dice ; 

And  chide  the  cripple  tardy-gaited  night. 

Who,  like  a  foul  and  ugly  witch,  doth  limp 

So  tediously  away.     The  poor  condemned  English, 

Like  sacrifices,  by  their  watchful  fires 

Sit  patiently  and  inly  ruminate 

The  morning's  danger,  and  their  gesture  sad, 

Investing  lank-lean  cheeks  and  war-worn  coats, 

Presenteth  them  unto  the  gazing  moon 

So  many  horrid  ghosts.     O  now,  who  will  behold 

The  royal  captain  of  this  ruin'd  band. 

Walking  from  watch  to  watch,  from  tent  to  tent, 

Let  him  cry,  '  Praise  and  glory  on  his  head  ! ' 

For  forth  he  goes  and  visits  all  his  host. 

Bids  them  good-morrow  with  a  modest  smile 

And  calls  them  brothers,  friends,  and  countrymen. 

Upon  his  royal  face  there  is  no  note 

How  dread  an  army  hath  enrounded  him ; 

*  Discoloured  by  the  gleam  of  the  fires.  *  Over-saucy. 


King  Henry  V,  225 

Nor  doth  he  dedicate  one  jot  of  colour 
Unto  the  weary  and  all-watched  night, 
But  freshly  looks  and  overbears  attaint 
With  cheerful  semblance  arid  sweet  majesty ; 
That  every  wretch,  pining  and  pale  before. 
Beholding  him,  plucks  comfort  from  his  looks : 
A  largess  universal  like  the  sun 
His  liberal  eye  doth  give  to  every  one, 
Thawing  cold  fear. 

NIGHT  BEFORE  THE  BATTLE. 

Court.  Brother  John  Bates,  is  not  that  the  morn- 
ing which  breaks  yonder? 

Bates.  I  think  it  be  :  but  we  have  no  great  cause 
to  desire  the  approach  of  day. 

Williams.  We  see  yonder  the  beginning  of  the 
day,  but,  I  think,  we  shall  never  see  the  end  of  it. 
Who  goes  there? 

Kijtg  Henry.     A  friend. 

Will.     Under  what  captain  serve  you? 

K.  He?i.     Under  Sir  Thomas  Erpingham. 

Will.  A  good  old  commander,  and  a  most  kind 
gentleman :  I  pray  you,  what  thinks  he  of  our  estate? 

K.  Hen.  Even  as  men  wrecked  upon  a  sand, 
that  look  to  be  washed  off  the  next  tide. 

Bates.     He  hath  not  told  his  thought  to  the  king? 

K.  Hen.  No ;  nor  it  is  not  meet  he  should.  For, 
though  I  speak  it  to  you,  I  think  the  king  is  but  a 
man,  as  I  am :  the  violet  smells  to  him  as  it  doth  to 
me ;  the  element  shows  to  him  as  it  doth  to  me ;  all 


2  26  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

his  senses  have  but  human  conditions :  *  his  cere- 
monies laid  by,  in  his  nakedness  he  appears  but  a 
man ;  and  though  his  affections  are  higher  mounted 
than  ours,  yet,  when  they  stoop,  they  stoop  with  the 
like  wing.  Therefore  when  he  sees  reason  of  fears, 
as  we  do,  his  fears,  out  of  doubt,  be  of  the  same 
relish  as  ours  are :  yet,  in  reason,  no  man  should 
possess  him  with  any  appearance  of  fear,  lest  he,  by 
showing  it,  should  dishearten  his  army. 

Bates.  He  may  show  what  outward  courage  he 
will :  but  I  believe,  as  cold  a  night  as  't  is,  he  could 
wish  himself  in  the  Thames  up  to  the  neck ;  and 
so  I  would  he  were,  and  I  by  him,  at  all  adventures, 
so  we  were  quit  here. 

K.  Hen.  By  my  troth,  I  will  speak  my  conscience 
of  the  king ;  I  think,  he  would  not  wish  himself  any 
where  but  where  he  is. 

Bates.  Then  I  would  he  were  here  alone ;  so 
should  he  be  sure  to  be  ransomed,  and  a  many  poor 
men's  lives  saved. 

K.  Hen.  I  dare  say  you  love  him  not  so  ill,  to 
wish  him  here  alone,  howsoever  you  speak  this  to  feel 
other  men's  minds :  methinks  I  could  not  die  any 
where  so  contented  as  in  the  king's  company ;  his 
cause  being  just  and  his  quarrel  honourable. 

Will.     That 's  more  than  we  know. 

Bates.  Ay,  or  more  than  we  should  seek  after; 
for  we  know  enough,  if  we  know  we  are  the  king's 
subjects ;  if  his  cause  be  wrong,  our  obedience  to  the 
king  wipes  the  crime  of  it  out  of  us. 

1  Qjialities. 


King  Henry  V,  227 

Will.  But  if  the  cause  be  not  good,  the  king 
himself  hath  a  heavy  reckoning  to  make,  when  all 
those  legs  and  arms  and  heads,  chopped  off  in  a 
battle,  shall  join  together  at  the  latter  day  ^  and  cry 
all  '  We  died  at  such  a  place ;  '  some  swearing, 
some  crying  for  a  surgeon,  some  upon  their  wives 
left  poor  behind  them,  some  upon  the  debts  they 
owe,  some  upon  their  children  rawly  ^  left,  I  am 
afeard  there  are  few  die  well  that  die  in  a  battle  ;  for 
how  can  they  charitably  dispose  of  any  thing,  when 
blood  is  their  argument?  Now,  if  these  men  do  not 
die  well,  it  will  be  a  black  matter  for  the  king  that 
led  them  to  it ;  whom  to  disobey  were  against  all 
proportion  of  subjection, 

K.  Hen.  So,  if  a  son  that  is  by  his  father  sent 
about  merchandise  do  sinfully  miscarry  upon  the 
sea,  the  imputation  of  his  wickedness,  by  your  rule, 
should  be  imposed  upon  his  father  that  sent  him :  or 
if  a  servant,  under  his  master's  command  transport- 
ing a  sum  of  money,  be  assailed  by  robbers  and  die 
in  many  irreconciled  iniquities,  you  may  call  the 
business  of  the  master  the  author  of  the  servant's 
damnation  :  but  this  is  not  so :  the  king  is  not  bound 
to  answer  the  particular  endings  of  his  soldiers,  the 
father  of  his  son,  nor  the  master  of  his  servant ;  for 
they  purpose  not  their  death,  when  they  purpose 
their  services.  Besides,  there  is  no  king,  be  his 
cause  never  so  spotless,  if  it  come  to  the  arbitrement 
of  swords,  can  try  it  out  with  all  unspotted  soldiers  : 
some  peradventure  have  on  them   the  guilt  of  pre- 

1  The  last  day,  the  Day  of  Judg^inent.  2  Suddenly. 


2  28  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

meditated  and  contrived  murder ;  some,  of  beguiling 
virgins  with  the  broken  seals  of  perjury ;  some,  mak- 
ing the  wars  their  bulwark,  that  have  before  gored 
the  gentle  bosom  of  peace  with  pillage  and  robbery. 
Now,  if  these  men  have  defeated  the  law  and  outrun 
native  punishment,*  though  they  can  outstrip  men, 
they  have  no  wings  to  fly  from  God :  war  is  his 
beadle,  war  is  his  vengeance  ;  so  that  here  men  are 
punished  for  before-breach  of  the  king's  laws  in  now 
the  king's  quarrel :  where  they  feared  the  death,  they 
have  borne  life  away ;  and  where  they  would  be  safe, 
they  perish  :  then  if  they  die  unprovided,  no  more  is 
the  king  guilty  of  their  damnation  than  he  was  before 
guilty  of  those  impieties  for  the  which  they  are  now 
visited.  Every  subject's  duty  is  the  king's;  but 
every  subject's  soul  is  his  own.  Therefore  should 
every  soldier  in  the  wars  do  as  every  sick  man  in  his 
bed,  wash  every  mote  out  of  his  conscience :  and 
dying  so,  death  is  to  him  advantage  ;  or  not  dying, 
the  time  was  blessedly  lost  wherein  such  preparation 
was  gained :  and  in  him  that  escapes,  it  were  not  sin 
to  think,  that,  making  God  so  free  an  offer,  he  let 
him  outlive  that  day  to  see  his  greatness,  and  to 
teach  others  how  they  should  prepare. 

Will.     'T  is  certain,  every  man  that  dies  ill,  the  ill 
is  upon  his  own  head,  the  king  is  not  to  answer  it. 

1  i.e.  Punishment  in  their  native  country. 


King  Henry  V,  229 


THE   MISERIES   OF   ROYALTY. 

O  hard  condition. 
Twin-born  with  greatness,  subject  to  the  breath 
Of  every  fool,  whose  sense  no  more  can  feel 
But  his  own  wringing !     What  infinite  heart's-ease 
Must  kings  neglect,  that  private  men  enjoy  ! " 
And  what  have  kings,  that  privates  have  not  too. 
Save  ceremony,  save  general  ceremony? 
And  what  art  thou,  thou  idol  ceremony? 
What  kind  of  god  art  thou,  that  suffer'st  more 
Of  mortal  griefs  than  do  thy  worshippers  ? 
What  are  thy  rents?  what  are  thy  comings  in? 
O  ceremony,  show  me  but  thy  worth  ! 
What  is  thy  soul  of  adoration  ?  * 
Art  thou  aught  else  but  place,  degree,  and  form, 
Creating  awe  and  fear  in  other  men? 
Wherein  thou  art  less  happy  being  fear'd, 
Than  they  in  fearing. 

What  drink'st  thou  oft,  instead  of  homage  sweet, 
But  poison'd  flattery?     O,  be  sick,  great  greatness, 
And  bid  thy  ceremony  give  thee  cure  ! 
Think'st  thou  the  fiery  fever  will  go  out 
With  titles  blown  from  adulation? 
Will  it  give  place  to  flexure  and  low  bending? 
Canst   thou,    when   thou   command'st    the    beggar's 

knee. 
Command  the  health  of  it?     No,  thou  proud  dream. 
That  play'st  so  subtly  with  a  king's  repose ; 

1 "  What  is  the  real  worth  and  intrinsic  value  of  adoration?  " 


230  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

I  am  a  king  that  find  thee,  and  I  know 

'T  is  not  the  bahn,  the  sceptre,  and  the  ball. 

The  sword,  the  mace,  the  crown  imperial. 

The  intertissued  robe  of  gold  and  pearl, 

The  farced '  title  running  'fore  the  king. 

The  throne  he  sits  on,  nor  the  tide  of  pomp 

That  beats  upon  the  high  shore  of  this  world, 

No,  not  all  these,  thrice-gorgeous  ceremony, 

Not  all  these,  laid  in  bed  majestical, 

Can  sleep  so  soundly  as  the  wretched  slave, 

Who  with  a  body  filPd  and  vacant  mind. 

Gets  him  to  rest,  cramm'd  with  distressful  bread ; 

Never  sees  horrid  night,  the  child  of  hell. 

But,  like  a  lackey,  from  the  rise  to  set, 

Sweats  in  the  eye  of  Phcebus  and  all  night 

Sleeps  in  Elysium  ;   next  day  after  dawn, 

Doth  rise  and  help  Hyperion  2  to  his  horse ; 

And  follows  so  the  ever-running  year 

With  profitable  labour  to  his  grave : 

And,  but  for  ceremony,  such  a  wretch, 

Winding  up  days  with  toil  and  nights  with  sleep, 

Had  the  fore-hand  and  vantage  of  a  king. 


KING    henry's   prayer    BEFORE    BATTLE. 

O  God  of  battles !  steel  my  soldiers'  hearts ; 
Possess  them  not  with  fear ;  take  from  them  now 
The  sense  of  reckoning,  if  the  opposed  numbers 
Pluck  their  hearts  from  them.     Not  to-day,  O  Lord, 

1  Farced  is  stuffed.    The  tumid  puffy  titles  with  which  a  king's 
name  is  introduced.  *  The  sun. 


King  Henry  V,  231 

O,  not  to-day,  think  not  upon  the  fault 
My  father  made  in  compassing  the  crown ! 
I  Richard's  body  have  interred  new ; 
And  on  it  Imve  bestowed  more  contrite  tears 
Than  from  it  issued  forced  drops  of  blood : 
Five  hundred  poor  I  have  in  yearly  pay, 
Who  twice  a-day  their  withered  hands  hold  up 
Toward  heaven,  to  pardon  blood ;  and  I  have  buiit 
Two  chantries,  where  the  sad  and  solemn  priests 
Sing  still  for  Richard's  soul.     More  will  I  do; 
Though  all  that  I  can  do  is  nothing  worth, 
Since  that  my  penitence  comes  after  all, 
Imploring  pardon. 


DESCRIPTION   OF   THE   MISERABLE    STATE   OF   THE 
ENGLISH   ARMY. 

Yon  island  carrions,  desperate  of  their  bones, 
Ill-fa vouredly  become  the  morning  field  : 
Their  ragged  curtains  '  poorly  are  let  loose. 
And  our  air  shakes  them  passing  scornfully : 
Big  Mars  seems  bankrupt  in  their  beggar'd  host, 
And  faintly  through  a  rusty  beaver  peeps : 
Their  horsemen  sit  like  fixed  candlesticks. 
With  torch-staves  in  their  hand  ;  and  their  poor  jades 
Lob  down  their  heads,  dropping  the  hides  and  hips. 
The  gum  down-roping  from  their  pale-dead  eyes. 
And  in  their  pale  dull  mouths  the  gimmal  ^  bit 
Lies  foul  with  chew'd  grass,  still  and  motionless ; 

1  Colours.  2  A  bridle  bit  of  interlocked  rings. 


232  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

And  their  executors,  the  knavish  crows, 
Fly  o'er  them,  all  impatient  for  their  hour. 


KING    HENRY  S    SPEECH    BEFORE    THE    BATTLE   OF 
AGINCOURT. 

If  we  are  mark'd  to  die,  we  are  enow 

To  do  our  country  loss ;  and  if  to  live. 

The  fewer  men,  the  greater  share  of  honour. 

God's  will !  I  pray  thee,  wish  not  one  man  more. 

By  Jove,  I  am  not  covetous  for  gold. 

Nor  care  I  who  doth  feed  upon  my  cost ; 

It  yearns  me  not  if  men  my  garments  wear ; 

Such  outward  things  dwell  not  in  my  desires : 

But  if  it  be  a  sin  to  covet  honour, 

I  am  the  most  offending  soul  alive. 

No,  faith,  my  coz,  wish  not  a  man  from  England: 

God's  peace  !  I  would  not  lose  so  great  an  honour 

As  one  man  more,  methinks,  would  share  from  me 

For  the  best  hope   I   have.     O,   do  not    wish    one 

more  ! 
Rather  proclaim  it,  Westmoreland,  through  my  host, 
That  he  which  hath  no  stomach  to  this  fight. 
Let  him  depart ;  his  passport  shall  be  made 
And  crowns  for  convoy  put  into  his  purse  : 
We  would  not  die  in  that  man's  company 
That  fears  his  fellowship  to  die  with  us. 
This  day  is  call'd  the  feast  of  Crispian : 
He  that  outlives  this  day,  and  comes  safe  home. 
Will  stand  a  tip-toe  when  this  day  is  named, 
And  rouse  him  at  the  name  of  Crispian. 


Kmg  Henry  V.  233 

He  that  shall  live  this  day,  and  see  old  age, 

Will  yearly  on  the  vigil  feast  his  neighbours, 

And  say  '  To-morrow  is  Saint  Crispian :  ' 

Then  will  he  strip  his  sleeve  and  show  his  scars, 

And  say  '  These  wounds  I  had  on  Crispin's  day.' 

Old  men  forget :   yet  all  shall  be  forgot, 

But  he  '11  remember  with  advantages 

What  feats  he  did  that  day :   then  shall  our  names. 

Familiar  in  their  mouths  as  household  words, 

Harry  the  king,  Bedford  and  Exeter, 

Warwick  and  Talbot,  Salisbury  and  Gloucester, 

Be  in  their  flowing  cups  freshly  remember'd. 

This  story  shall  the  good  man  teach  his  son,- 

And  Crispin  Crispian  shall  ne'er  go  by. 

From  this  day  to  the  ending  of  the  world. 

But  we  in  it  shall  be  remembered ; 

We  few,  we  happy  few,  we  band  of  brothers; 

For  he  to-day  that  sheds  his  blood  with  me 

Shall  be  my  brother ;   be  he  ne'er  so  vile. 

This  day  shall  gentle  his  condition : 

And  gentlemen  in  England  now  a-bed 

Shall  think  themselves  accursed  they  were  not  here. 

And  hold  their  manhoods  cheap  whiles  any  speaks 

That  fought  with  us  upon  Saint  Crispin's  day. 

EXETER'S    DESCRIPTION   OF    THE   DUKE   OF    YORK'S 
DEATH. 

Suifolk  first  died :  and  York,  all  haggled  over. 
Comes  to  him,  where  in  gore  he  lay  insteep'd. 
And  takes  him  by  the  beard ;  kisses  the  gashes 


2  34  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

That  bloodily  did  yawn  upon  his  face ; 

And  cries  aloud,  '  Tarry,  dear  cousin  Suffolk  ! 

My  soul  shall  thine  keep  company  to  heaven  ; 

Tarry,  sweet  soul,  for  mine,  then  fly  abreast. 

As  in  this  glorious  and  well-foughten  field 

We  kept  together  in  our  chivalry ! ' 

Upon  these  words  I  came  and  cheer'd  him  up : 

He  smiled  me  in  the  face,  raught '  me  his  hand, 

And,  with  a  feeble  gripe,  says  ♦  Dear  my  lord, 

Commend  my  service  to  my  sovereign.' 

So  did  he  turn  and  over  Suffolk's  neck 

He  threw  his  wounded  arm  and  kiss'd  his  lips  ; 

And  so  espoused  to  death,  with  blood  he  seal'd 

A  testament  of  noble-ending  love. 

The  pretty  and  sweet  manner  of  it  forced 

Those  waters  from  me,  which  I  would  have  stopp'd ; 

But  I  had  not  so  much  of  man  in  me, 

And  all  my  mother  came  into  mine  eyes 

And  gave  me  up  to  tears. 


ACT   V. 

THE  STATE  OF  FRANCE  AFTER  THE  WAR. 

All  her  husbandry  doth  lie  on  heaps, 
Corrupting  in  its  own  fertility. 
Her  vine,  the  merry  cheerer  of  the  heart, 
Unpruned  dies;  her  hedges  even-pleach'd,'' 
Like  prisoners  wildly  overgrown  with  hair, 

1  Reached.  2  pleated. 


King  Henry  V.  235 

Put  forth  disordered  twigs ;  her  fallow  leas 

The  darnel,  hemlock  and  rank  fumitory, 

Doth  root  upon ;  while  that  the  coulter  ^  rusts 

That  should  deracinate  ^  such  savagery  : 

The  even  mead,  that  erst  brought  sweetly  forth 

The  freckled  cowslip,  burnet,  and  green  clover, 

Wanting  the  scythe,  all  uncorrected,  rank, 

Conceives  by  idleness  and  nothing  teems 

But  hateful  docks,  rough  thistles,  kecksies,  burs, 

Losing  both  beauty  and  utility. 

And  as  our  vineyards,  fallows,  meads,  and  hedges. 

Defective  in  their  natures,  grow  to  wildness. 

Even  so  our  houses  and  ourselves  and  children 

Have  lost,  or  do  not  learn  for  want  of  time, 

The  sciences  that  should  become  our  country ; 

But  grow  like  savages,  —  as  soldiers  will 

That  nothing  do  but  meditate  on  blood,  — 

To  swearing  and  stern  looks,  defused  attire, 

And  every  thing  that  seems  unnatural. 

1  Ploughshare.  2  Uproot. 


KING   HENRY   VI. 

PART    I. 

ACT    I. 

GLORY. 

Glory  is  like  a  circle  in  the  water, 

Which  never  ceaseth  to  enlarge  itself 

Till  by  broad  spreading  it  disperse  to  nought. 

JOAN   OF    ARC. 

'T  is  Joan,  not  we,  by  whom  the  day  is  won ; 
For  which  I  will  divide  my  crown  with  her. 
And  all  the  priests  and  friars  in  my  realm 
Shall  in  procession  sing  her  endless  praise. 
A  statelier  pyramid  to  her  I  '11  rear 
Than  Rhodope's  or  Memphis'  ever  was : 
In  memory  of  her  when  she  is  dead, 
Her  ashes,  in  an  urn  more  precious 
Than  the  rich-jeweird  coffer  of  Darius, 
Transported  shall  be  at  high  festivals 
Before  the  kings  and  queens  of  France. 
No  longer  on  Saint  Denis  will  we  cry. 
But  Joan  la  Pucelle  shall  be  France's  saint.     • 


King  Henry  VL  237 


Come  in,  and  let  us  banquet  royally, 
After  this  golden  day  of  victory. 


ACT   V. 

FAINT   HEART   NE'ER   WON   FAIR    LADY. 

She  's  beautiful,  and  therefore  to  be  woo'd ; 
She  is  a  woman,  therefore  to  be  won. 

MARRIAGE. 

Marriage  is  a  matter  of  more  worth 
Than  to  be  dealt  in  by  attorneyship.* 

For  what  is  wedlock  forced  but  a  hell, 
An  age  of  discord  and  continual  strife  ? 
Whereas  the  contrary  bringeth  bliss, 
And  is  a  pattern  of  celestial  peace. 

1  By  the  discretional  agency  of  another. 


KING   HENRY  VI. 

PART  II. 
ACT  I. 

A   RESOLVED   AND   AMBITIOUS   WOMAN. 

Follow  I  must,  I  cannot  go  before, 

While  Gloucester  bears  this  base  and  humble  mind. 

Were  I  a  man,  a  duke,  and  next  of  blood, 

I  would  remove  these  tedious  stumbling-blocks 

And  smooth  my  way  upon  their  headless  necks : 

And,  being  a  woman,  I  will  not  be  slack 

To  play  my  part  in  Fortune's  pageant. 

ACT  II. 

god's   GOODNESS   EVER    TO    BE   REMEMBERED. 

Let  never  day  nor  night  unhallow'd  pass, 
But  still  remember  what  the  Lord  hath  done. 

THE   DUCHESS    OF   GLOUCESTER'S  REMONSTRANCE  TO 
HER    HUSBAND,    WHEN   DOING    PENANCE. 

Ah,  Gloucester,  teach  me  to  forget  myself! 
For  whilst  I  think  I  am  thy  married  wife, 


King  Henry  VI.  239 

And  thou  a  prince,  protector  of  this  land, 

Methinks  I  should  not  thus  be  led  along, 

Maird  up  in  shame, ^  with  papers  on  my  back. 

And  follovv'd  with  a  rabble  that  rejoice 

To  see  my  tears  and  hear  my  deep-fet  ^  groans. 

The  ruthless  flint  doth  cut  my  tender  feet, 

And  when  I  start,  the  envious  people  laugh 

And  bid  me  advised  how  I  tread. 

Ah,  Humphrey,  can  1  bear  this  shameful  yoke? 

Trow'st  thou  that  e^er  I  Ul  look  upon  the  world, 

Or  count  them  happy  that  enjoy  the  sun  ? 

No :  dark  shall  be  my  light  and  night  my  day ; 

To  think  upon  my  pomp  shall  be  my  hell. 

Sometime  I  '11  say,  I  am  Duke  Humphrey's  wife, 

And  he  a  prince  and  ruler  of  the  land  : 

Yet  so  he  ruled  and  such  a  prince  he  was 

As  he  stood  by  whilst  I,  his  forlorn  duchess. 

Was  made  a  wonder  and  a  pointing-stock 

To  every  idle  rascal  follower. 

But  be  thou  mild  and  blush  not  at  my  shame, 

Nor  stir  at  nothing  till  the  axe  of  death 

Hang  over  thee,  as  sure,  it  shortly  will. 


ACT  HI. 

SILENT   RESENTMENT   DEEPEST. 

Smooth  runs  the  water  where  the  brook  is  deep ; 
And  in  his  simple  show  he  harbours  treason. 

1  Wrapped  up  in  disgrace;  alluding  to  the  sheet  of  penance 
•Deep-fetched. 


240  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 


A   GUILTY   COUNTENANCE, 


Upon  thy  eyeballs  murderous  tyranny 
Sits  in  grim  majesty,  to  fright  the  world. 


DESCRIPTION   OF   A   MURDERED   PERSON. 

See  how  the  blood  is  settled  in  his  face. 
Oft  have  I  seen  a  timely-parted  ghost,' 
Of  ashy  semblance,  meagre,  pale,  and  bloodless, 
Being  all  descended  to  the  labouring  heart ; 
Who,  in  the  conflict  that  it  holds  with  death, 
Attracts  the  same  for  aidance  'gainst  the  enemy ; 
Which  with  the  heart  there  cools  and  ne'er  returneth 
To  blush  and  beautify  the  cheek  again. 
But  see,  his  face  is  black,  and  full  of  blood. 
His  eyeballs  further  out  than  when  he  lived. 
Staring  full  ghastly,  like  a  strangled  man ; 
His  hair  uprear'd,  his  nostrils  stretch'd  with  strug- 
gling ; 
His  hands  abroad  displayed,  as  one  that  grasp'd 
And  tugg'd  for  life  and  was  by  strength  subdued. 
Look,  on  the  sheets  his  hair,  you  see,  is  sticking: 
His  well-proportion'd  beard  made  rough  and  rugged, 
Like  to  the  summer's  corn  by  tempest  lodged. 
It  cannot  be  but  he  was  murder'd  here ; 
The  least  of  all  these  signs  were  probable. 

1  A  body  become  inanimate  in  the  common  course  of  nature;  to 
which  violence  has  not  brought  a  timeless  end. 


King  Henry  Vl.  241 


A   GOOD   CONSCIENCE. 

What  stronger  breast-plate  than  a  heart  untainted ! 
Thrice  is  he  arm'd  that  hath  his  quarrel  just, 
And  he  but  naked,  though  lock'd  up  in  steel, 
Whose  conscience  with  injustice  is  corrupted. 

REMORSELESS    HATRED. 

A   plague    upon    them  !     Wherefore   should  I  curse 

them? 
Would  curses  kill,  as  doth  the  mandrake's  groan, 
I  would  invent  as  bitter-searching  terms. 
As  curst,  as  harsh  and  horrible  to  hear. 
Delivered  strongly  through  my  fixed  teeth, 
With  full  as  many  signs  of  deadly  hate, 
As  lean-faced  Envy  in  her  loathsome  cave  : 
My  tongue  should  stumble  in  mine  earnest  words ; 
Mine  eyes  should  sparkle  like  the  beaten  flint ; 
My  hair  be  fix'd  on  end,  as  one  distract ; 
Ay,  every  joint  should  seem  to  curse  and  ban : 
And  even  now  my  burthen'd  heart  would  break. 
Should  I  not  curse  them.     Poison  be  their  drink ! 
Gall,  worse  than  gall,  the  daintiest  that  they  taste ! 
Their  sweetest  shade  a  grove  of  cypress  trees  ! 
Their  chiefest  prospect  murdering  basilisks ! 
Their  softest  touch  as  smart  as  lizards'  stings  ! 
Their  music,  frightful  as  the  serpent's  hiss. 
And  boding  screech-owls  make  the  concert  full ! 
All  the  foul  terrors  in  dark-seated  hell  — 


242  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Now,  by  the  ground  that  I  am  banished  from, 
Well  could  I  curse  away  a  winter's  night, 
Though  standing  naked  on  a  mountain  top, 
Where  biting  cold  would  never  let  grass  grow, 
And  think  it  but  a  minute  spent  in  sport. 


PARTING    LOVERS. 

Queen.    And  banished  I  am,  if  but  from  thee. 
Go ;  speak  not  to  me ;  even  now  be  gone. 
O,  go  not  yet !     Even  thus  two  friends  condemn'd 
Embrace  and  kiss  and  take  ten  thousand  leaves, 
Loather  a  hundred  times  to  part  than  die. 
Yet  now  farewell ;  and  farewell  life  with  thee  ! 

Suffolk.    Thus  is  poor  Suffolk  ten  times  banished ; 
Once  by  the  king,  and  three  times  thrice  by  thee. 
'T  is  not  the  land  I  care  for,  wert  thou  thence ; 
A  wilderness  is  populous  enough. 
So  Suffolk  had  thy  heavenly  company : 
For  where  thou  art,  there  is  the  world  itself, 
With  every  several  pleasure  in  the  world ; 
And  where  thou  art  not,  desolation. 

DYING    WITH    THE    PERSON   BELOVED    PREFERABLE 
TO    PARTING. 

If  I  depart  from  thee,  I  cannot  live ; 
And  in  thy  sight  to  die,  what  were  it  else 
But  like  a  pleasant  slumber  in  thy  lap? 
Here  could  I  breathe  my  soul  into  the  air, 
As  mild  and  gentle  as  the  cradle-babe, 


King  Henry  VI.  243 

Dying  with  mother's  dug  between  its  lips : 
Where,  from  thy  sight,  I  should  be  raging  mad 
And  cry  out  for  thee  to  close  up  mine  eyes, 
To  have  thee  with  thy  lips  to  stop  my  mouth ; 
So  shouldst  thou  either  turn  my  flying  soul, 
Or  I  should  breathe  it  so  into  thy  body. 
And  then  it  lived  in  sweet  Elysium. 
To  die  by  thee  were  but  to  die  in  jest ; 
From  thee  to  die  were  torture  more  than  death. 

THE    DEATH-BED    HORRORS    OF   A   GUILTY 
CONSCIENCE. 

Bring  me  unto  my  trial  when  you  will. 

Died  he  not  in  his  bed?  where  should  he  die? 

Can  I  make  men  live,  whether  they  will  or  no? 

O,  torture  me  no  more !  I  will  confess. 

Alive  again  ?  then  show  me  where  he  is  : 

I  '11  give  a  thousand  pound  to  look  upon  him. 

He  hath  no  eyes,  the  dust  hath  blinded  them. 

Comb  down  his  hair ;  look  !  look  !  it  stands  upright, 

Like  lime-twigs  set  to  catch  my  winged  soul. 

Give  me  some  drink  ;  and  bid  the  apothecary 

Bring  the  strong  poison  that  I  bought  of  him. 


ACT    IV. 

NIGHT. 

The  gaudy,  blabbing  and  remorseful  ^  day 
Is  crept  into  the  bosom  of  the  sea ; 

1  Pitiful. 


244  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

And  now  loud-howling  wolves  arouse  the  jades 
That  drag  the  tragic  melancholy  night ; 
Who,  with  their  drowsy,  slow,  and  flagging  wings. 
Clip  dead  men's  graves,  and  from  their  misty  jaws 
Breathe  foul  contagious  darkness  in  the  air. 

A  revolutionist's  promise. 

Cade.  There  shall  be  in  England  seven  half-penny 
loaves  sold  for  a  penny :  the  three-hooped  pot  shall 
have  ten  hoops  ;  and  I  will  make  it  felony  to  drink 
small  beer :  all  the  realm  shall  be  in  common  ;  and 
in  Cheapside  shall  my  palfrey  go  to  grass :  and  when 
I  am  king,  as  king  I  will  be,  — 

All.    God  save  your  majesty  ! 

Cade.  I  thank  you,  good  people :  there  shall  be  no 
money ;  all  shall  eat  and  drink  on  my  score ;  and  I 
will  apparel  them  all  in  one  livery,  that  they  may 
agree  like  brothers  and  worship  me  their  lord. 

Dick.  The  first  thing  we  do,  let  's  kill  all  the 
lawyers. 

Cade.  Nay,  that  I  mean  to  do.  Is  not  this  a 
lamentable  thing,  that  of  the  skin  of  an  innocent 
lamb  should  be  made  parchment?  that  parchment, 
being  scribbled  o'er,  should  undo  a  man?  Some 
say  the  bee  stings :  but  I  say,  't  is  the  bee's  wax ;  for 
I  did  but  seal  once  to  a  thing,  and  I  was  never  mine 
own  man  since. 


King  Henry  VL  245 

LORD    say's    apology   FOR   HIMSELF. 

Justice  with  favour  have  I  always  done ; 
Prayers  and  tears  have  moved  me,  gifts  could  never. 
When  have  I  aught  exacted  at  your  hands, 
But  to  maintain  the  king,  the  realm  and  you? 
Large  gifts  have  I  bestow'd  on  learned  clerks, 
Because  my  book  preferred  me  to  the  king : 
And  seeing  ignorance  is  the  curse  of  God, 
Knowledge  the  win*  wherewith  we  fly  to  heaven, 
Unless  you  be  possessed  with  devilish  spirits, 
You  cannot  but  forbear  to  murder  me. 


KING   HENRY   VI. 

PART  III. 

ACT  I. 

THE   TRANSPORTS    OF   A    CROWN. 

Do  but  think 
How  sweet  a  thing  it  is  to  wear  a  crown ; 
Within  whose  circuit  is  Elysium 
And  all  that  poets  feign  of  bliss  and  joy. 

A    HUNGRY    LION. 

So  looks  the  pent-up  lion  o'er  the  wretch 
That  trembles  under  his  devouring  paws ; 
And  so  he  walks,  insulting  o'er  his  prey, 
And  so  he  comes,  to  rend  his  limbs  asunder. 

THE  DUKE  OF  YORK  ON  THE  GALLANT  BEHAVIOUR 
OF  HIS  SONS. 

My  sons,  God  knows  what  hath  bechanced  them : 
But  this  I  know,  they  have  demean'd  themselves 
Like  men  born  to  renown  by  life  or  death. 
Three  times  did  Richard  make  a  lane  to  me. 
And  thrice  cried  ♦  Courage,  father !  fight  it  out ! ' 


King  Henry  Vl.  247 

And  full  as  oft  came  Edward  to  my  side, 

With  purple  falchion,  painted  to  the  hilt 

I  J  blood  of  those  that  had  encountered  him : 

And  when  the  hardiest  warriors  did  retire, 

Richard  cried  '  Charge  !  and  give  no  foot  of  ground ! ' 

And  cried  '  A  Crown,  or  else  a  glorious  tomb ! 

A  sceptre,  or  an  earthly  sepulchre  ! ' 

With  this,  we  charged  again ;  but  out,  alas ! 

We  bodged '  again ;  as  I  have  seen  a  swan 

With  bootless  labour  swim  against  the  tide 

And  spend  her  strength  with  over-matching  waves. 

A  father's  passion  on  the  murder  of  a  favour- 
ite CHILD. 

O,  tiger's  heart,  wrapt  in  a  woman's  hide ! 
How  couldst  thou  drain  the  life-blood  of  the  child, 
To  bid  the  father  wipe  his  eyes  withal, 
And  yet  be  seen  to  bear  a  woman's  face  ? 
Women  are  soft,  mild,  pitiful,  and  flexible ; 
Thou  stern,  obdurate,  flinty,  rough,  remorseless. 

That  face  of  his  the  hungry  cannibals 

Would  not  have  touch'd,  would  not  have  stain'd  with 

blood : 
But  you  are  more  inhuman,  more  inexorable, 
O,  ten  times  more,  than  tigers  of  Hyrcania. 
See,  ruthless  queen,  a  hapless  father's  tears : 
This  cloth  thou  dip'dst  in  blood  of  my  sweet  boy, 

*  I.  e.y  We  boggled,  made  bad  or  bungling  work  of  our  attempt 
to  rally. 


248  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

And  I  with  tears  do  wash  the  blood  away. 
Keep  thou  the  napkin,  and  go  boast  of  this : 
And  if  thou  tell'st  the  heavy  story  right, 
Upon  my  soul,  the  hearers  will  shed  tears ; 
Yea  even  my  foes  will  shed  fast-falling  tears, 
And  say  ♦  Alas,  it  was  a  piteous  deed  ! ' 


ACT   II. 

THE  DUKE  OF  YORK  IN  BATTLE. 

Methought,  he  bore  him  >  in  the  thickest  troop 
As  doth  a  lion  in  a  herd  of  neat ;  '^ 
Or  as  a  bear,  encompassed  round  with  dogs, 
Who  having  pinch'd  a  few  and  made  them  cry, 
The  rest  stand  all  aloof,  and  bark  at  him. 

MORNING. 

See  how  the  morning  opes  her  golden  gates, 
And  takes  her  farewell  of  the  glorious  sun  !  ^ 
How  well  resembles  it  the  prime  of  youth, 
Trimm'd  like  a  younker  prancing  to  his  love  ! 

AN   UNCERTAIN   BATTLE. 

This  battle  fares  like  to  the  morning's  war, 
When  dying  clouds  contend  with  growing  light. 
What  time  the  shepherd,  blowing  of  his  nails, 

^  Demeaned  himself.  2  Neat  cattle,  cows,  oxen,  etc. 

8  Aurora  takes  for  a  time  her  farewell  of  the  sun,  when  she  dis- 
misses  him  to  his  diurnal  course. 


King  Henry  VL  249 

Can  neither  call  it  perfect  day  nor  night. 
Now  sways  it  this  way,  like  a  mighty  sea 
Forced  by  the  tide  to  combat  with  the  wind ; 
Now  sways  it  that  way,  like  the  selfsame  sea 
Forced  to  retire  by  fury  of  the  wind  : 
Sometime  the  flood  prevails,  and  then  the  wind ; 
Now  one  the  better,  then  another  best ; 
Both  tugging  to  be  victors,  breast  to  breast, 
Yet  neither  conqueror  nor  conquered  : 
So  is  the  equal  poise  of  this  fell  war. 

THE    BLESSINGS   OF   A    SHEPHERD'S    LIFE. 

O  God !  methinks  it  were  a  happy  life, 

To  be  no  better  than  a  homely  swain ; 

To  sit  upon  a  hill,  as  I  do  now. 

To  carv-e  out  dials  quaintly,  point  by  point, 

Thereby  to  see  the  minutes  how  they  run. 

How  many  make  the  hour  full  complete ; 

How  many  hours  bring  about  the  day ; 

How  many  days  will  finish  up  the  year ; 

How  many  years  a  mortal  man  may  live. 

When  this  is  known,  then  to  divide  the  times : 

So  many  hours  must  I  tend  my  flock ; 

So  many  hours  must  I  take  my  rest ; 

So  many  hours  must  I  contemplate ; 

So  many  hours  must  I  sport  myself; 

So  many  days  my  ewes  have  been  with  young ; 

So  many  weeks  ere  the  poor  fools  will  ean ; 

So  many  years  ere  I  shall  shear  the  fleece  : 

So  minutes,  hours,  days,  weeks,  months,  and  years, 


250  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

PassM  over  to  the  end  they  were  created, 

Would  bring  white  hairs  into  a  quiet  grave. 

Ah,  what  a  Ufe  were  this  !  how  sweet !  how  lovely! 

Gives  not  the  hawthorn-bush  a  sweeter  shade 

To  shepherds,  looking  on  their  silly  sheep. 

Than  doth  a  rich  embroidcr'd  canopy 

To  kings  that  fear  their  subjects'  treachery? 

O,  yes  it  doth ;  a  thousand-fold  it  doth. 

And  to  conclude,  the  shepherd's  homely  curds, 

His  cold  thin  drink  out  of  his  leather  bottle, 

His  wonted  sleep  under  a  fresh  tree's  shade. 

All  which  secure  and  sweetly  he  enjoys. 

Is  far  beyond  a  prince's  delicates. 

His  viands  sparkling  in  a  golden  cup. 

His  body  couched  in  a  curious  bed. 

When  care,  mistrust,  and  treason  waits  on  him. 


ACT    HI. 

A  king's  true  crown. 

My  crown  is  in  my  heart,  not  on  my  head ; 
Not  deck'd  with  diamonds  and  Indian  stones, 
Nor  to  be  seen ;   my  crown  is  called  content : 
A  crown  it  is  that  seldom  kings  enjoy. 

FICKLENESS    OF    MEN. 

Ah,  simple  men,  you  know  not  what  you  swear! 
Look,  as  I  blow  this  feather  from  my  face. 
And  as  the  air  blows  it  to  me  again, 


King  Henry  FL  251 

Obeying  with  my  wind  when  I  do  blow, 
And  yielding  to  another  when  it  blows, 
Commanded  always  by  the  greater  gust ; 
Such  is  the  lightness  of  you  common  men. 


A    SIMILE    ON   AMBITIOUS    THOUGHTS. 

Why,  then,  I  do  but  dream  on  sovereignty ; 

Like  one  that  stands  upon  a  promontory. 

And  spies  a  far-off  shore  where  he  would  tread, 

Wishing  his  foot  were  equal  with  his  eye, 

And  chides  the  sea  that  sunders  him  from  thence, 

Saying,  he  '11  lade  it  dry  to  have  his  way. 

GLOUCESTER'S    DEFORMITY. 

Why,  love  forswore  me  in  my  mother's  womb : 
And,  for  I  should  not  deal  in  her  soft  laws. 
She  did  corrupt  frail  nature  with  some  bribe. 
To  shrink  mine  arm  up  like  a  wither'd  shrub ; 
To  make  an  envious  mountain  on  my  back, 
Where  sits  deformity  to  mock  my  body ; 
To  shape  my  legs  of  an  unequal  size ; 
To  disproportion  me  in  every  part. 
Like  to  a  chaos,  or  an  unHck'd  bear-whelp, 
That  carries  no  impression  like  the  dam. 
And  am  I  then  a  man  to  be  beloved? 

GLOUCESTER'S   DISSIMULATION. 

Why,  I  can  smile,  and  murder  whiles  I  smile. 
And  cry  ♦  Content '  to  that  which  grieves  my  heart. 


252  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

And  wet  my  cheeks  with  artificial  tears, 

And  frame  my  face  to  all  occasions. 

I  '11  drown  more  sailors  than  the  mermaid  shall ; 

I  Ul  slay  more  gazers  than  the  basilisk ; 

I  11  play  the  orator  as  well  as  Nestor, 

Deceive  more  slily  than  Ulysses  could, 

And,  like  a  Sinon,  take  another  Troy. 

I  can  add  colours  to  the  cameleon, 

Change  shapes  with  Proteus  for  advantages, 

And  set  the  murderous  Machiavel  to  school. 

Can  I  do  this,  and  cannot  get  a  crown? 


ACT   IV. 

HENRY   VI.    ON   HIS    OWN   LENITY. 

I  have  not  stopped  mine  ears  to  their  demands, 
Nor  posted  off  their  suits  with  slow  delays  ; 
My  pity  hath  been  balm  to  heal  their  wounds. 
My  mildness  hath  allay'd  their  swelling  griefs, 
My  mercy  dried  their  water-flowing  tears ; 
I  have  not  been  desirous  of  their  wealth, 
Nor  much  oppressed  them  with  great  subsidies. 
Nor  forward  of  revenge,  though  they  much  err'd. 


ACT   V. 

DYING   SPEECH    OF    THE    EARL   OF   WARWICK. 

Ah,  who  is  nigh?  come  to  me,  friend,  or  foe. 
And  tell  me,  who  is  victor,  York  or  Warwick? 


King  Henry  VL  253 

Why  ask  I  that?  my  mangled  body  shows, 

My  blood,  my  want  of  strength,  my  sick  heart  shows, 

That  I  must  yield  my  body  to  the  earth 

And,  by  my  fall,  the  conquest  to  my  foe. 

Thus  yields  the  cedar  to  the  axe's  edge. 

Whose  arms  gave  shelter  to  the  princely  eagle, 

Under  whose  shade  the  ramping  lion  slept. 

Whose  top-branch  over-peer'd  Jove's  spreading  tree 

And  kept  low  shrubs  from  winter's  powerful  wind. 

These  eyes,  that  now  are  dimm'd  with  death's  black 

veil, 
Have  been  as  piercing  as  the  mid-day  sun, 
To  search  the  secret  treasons  of  the  world  : 
The  wrinkles  in  my  brows,  now  fill'd  with  blood, 
Were  liken'd  oft  to  kingly  sepulchres  ; 
For  who  lived  king,  but  I  could  dig  his  grave  ? 
And  who  durst  smile  when  Warwick  bent  his  brow? 
Lo,  now  my  glory  smear'd  in  dust  and  blood  ! 
My  parks,  my  walks,  my  manors  that  I  had, 
Even  now  forsake  me,  and  of  all  my  lands 
Is  nothing  left  me  but  my  body's  length  ! 

QUEEN   MARGARET'S     SPEECH     BEFORE    THE   BATTLE 
OF   TEWKSBURY. 

Lords,  knights,  and  gentlemen,  what  I  should  say 
My  tears  gaiiisay;^  for  every  word  I  speak, 
Ye  see,  I  drink  the  water  of  mine  eyes. 
Therefore,  no  more  but  this :  Henry,  your  sovereign, 
Is  prisoner  to  the  foe ;  his  state  usurp'd, 

1  Unsay,  deny. 


2  54  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

His  realm  a  slaughter-house,  his  subjects  slain, 
His  statutes  cancelPd,  and  his  treasure  spent ; 
And  yonder  is  the  wolf  that  makes  this  spoil. 
You  fight  in  justice  :  then,  in  God's  name,  lords, 
Be  valiant  and  give  signal  to  the  fight. 

OMENS   ON   THE    BIRTH    OF   RICHARD    IIT 

Gloucester.     Suspicion    always  haunts   the    guilty 
mind  : 
The  thief  doth  fear  each  bush  an  officer. 

King  Henry.     The  bird  that  hath  been  lirhr-d  in 
a  bush. 
With  trembling  wings  misdoubteth  every  bush ; 
And  I,  the  hapless  male  to  one  sweet  bird. 
Have  now  the  fatal  object  in  my  eye 
Where  my  poor  young  was  limed,  was  caught  ai-d 
kiird. 

Glo.     Why,  what  a  peevish  fool  was  that  of  Cre 
That  taught  his  son  the  office  of  a  fowl ; 
And  yet,  for  all  his  wings,  the  fool  was  drownM. 

K.  Hen.     I,  Daedalus;  my  poor  boy,  Icarus; 
Thy  father,  Minos,  that  denied  our  course ; 
The  son  that  searM  the  wings  of  my  sweet  boy 
Thy  brother  Edward,  and  thyself  the  sea 
Whose  envious  gulf  did  swallow  up  his  life. 
Ah,  kill  me  with  thy  weapon,  not  with'  words  ! 
My  breast  can  better  brook  thy  dagger's  point 
Than  can  my  ears  that  tragic  history. 
But  wherefore  dost  thou  come  ?  is  't  for  my  life  ? 

Glo.     Think'st  thou  I  am  an  executioner? 


King  Henry  J^L  255 

K.  Hen.     A  persecutor,  I  am  sure,  thou  art : 
If  murdering  innocents  be  executing, 
Why,  then  thou  art  an  executioner. 

Glo.     Thy  son  I  kiird  for  his  presumption. 

K.  Hen.     Hadst  thou  been  kill'd,  when  first  thou 
didst  presume, 
Thou  hadst  not  lived  to  kill  a  son  of  mine. 
And  thus  I  prophesy,  that  many  a  thousand, 
Which  now  mistrust  no  parcel  of  my  fear. 
And  many  an  old  man's  sigh  and  many  a  widow's, 
And  many  an  orphan's  water-standing  eye  — 
Men  for  their  sons,  wives  for  their  husbands. 
And  orphans  for  their  parents'  timeless  death  — 
Shall  rue  the  hour  that  ever  thou  wast  born. 
The  owl  shriek'd  at  thy  birth,  —  an  evil  sign ; 
The  night-crow  cried,  aboding  luckless  time ; 
Dogs  howFd,  and  hideous  tempest  shook  down  trees  ; 
The  raven  rook'd  ^  her  on  the  chimney's  top. 
And  chattering  pies  in  dismal  discords  sung. 
Thy  mother  felt  more  than  a  mother's  pain. 
And  yet  brought  forth  less  than  a  mother's  hope, 
To  wit,  an  indigested  and  deformed  lump, 
Not  like  the  fruit  of  such  a  goodly  tree. 
Teeth  hadst  thou  in  thy  head  when  thou  wast  born, 
To  signify  thou  camest  to  bite  the  world : 
And,  if  the  rest  be  true  which  I  have  heard. 
Thou  camest  — 

Glo.     I  '11  hear   no    more:    die,  prophet,  in    thy 
speech  :  \Stabs  him. 

For  this,  amongst  the  rest,  was  I  ordain'd. 

1  '  To  rook '  signifies  to  squat  down  or  lodge  on  anything. 


256  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

K.  Hen.     Ay,  and  for  much  more  slaughter  after 
this. 
O,  God  forgive  my  sins,  and  pardon  thee  !         \Dies. 

Glo.     What,  will  the  aspiring  blood  of  Lancaster 
Sink   in   the   ground?      I    thought    it    would  have 

mounted. 
See  how  my  sword  weeps  for  the  poor  king's  death  ! 

0,  may  such  purple  tears  be  alvvay  shed 

From  those  that  wish  the  downfall  of  our  house ! 

If  any  spark  of  life  be  yet  remaining, 

Down,  down  to  hell;  and  say  I  sent  thee  thither; 

\Stabs  him  again, 

1,  that  have  neither  pity,  love,  nor  fear. 

THE  PLEASURES  OF  THE  COURT. 

And  now  what  rests  but  that  we  spend  the  time 
With  stately  triumphs,  mirthful  comic  shows, 
Such  as  befits  the  pleasure  of  the  court? 
Sound  drums  and  trumpets  !  farewell  sour  annoy  ! 


KING   RICHARD  III. 

ACT  I. 

THE     DUKE   OF    GLOUCESTER   ON    HIS   OWN  ' 
DEFORMITY. 

Now  is  the  winter  of  our  discontent 

Made  glorious  summer  by  this  sun  of  York ; 

And  all  the  clouds  that  lour'd  upon  our  house 

In  the  deep  bosom  of  the  ocean  buried. 

Now  are  our  brows  bound  with  victorious  wreaths ; 

Our  bruised  arms  hung  up  for  mqnuments  ; 

Our  stern  alarums  changed  to  merry  meetings, 

Our  dreadful  marches  to  delightful  measures.' 

Grim-visaged  war  hath  smooth'd  his  wrinkled  front ; 

And  now,  instead  of  mounting  barbed  2  steeds 

To  fright  the  souls  of  fearful  adversaries. 

He  capers  nimbly  in  a  lady's  chamber 

To  the  lascivious  pleasing  of  a  lute. 

But  I,  that  am  not  shaped  for  sportive  tricks, 

Nor  made  to  court  an  amorous  looking-glass, 

I,  that  am  rudely  stamp'd,  and  want  love's  majesty 

To  strut  before  a  wanton  ambling  nymph ; 

I,  that  am  curtaiPd  of  this  fair  proportion, 

Cheated  of  feature  by  dissembling  nature, 

»  Dances.  «  Armed. 


258  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Deform 'd,  unfinish'd,  sent  before  my  time 

Into  this  breathing  world,  scarce  half  made  up^ 

And  that  so  lamely  and  unfashionable, 

That  dogs  bark  at  me,  as  I  halt  by  them ; 

Why  I,  in  this  weak  piping  time  of  peace, 

Have  no  delight  to  pass  away  the  time, 

Unless  to  spy  my  shadow  in  the  sun, 

And  descant  on  mine  own  deformity : 

And  therefore,  since  I  cannot  prove  a  lover. 

To  entertain  these  fair  well-spoken  days, 

I  am  determined  to  prove  a  villain 

And  hate  the  idle  pleasures  of  these  days. 

GLOUCESTER'S  LOVE  FOR  LADY  ANNE. 

Those  eyes  of  thine  from  mine  have  drawn  salt  tears. 
Shamed  their  aspects  with  store  of  childish  drops : 
These  eyes,  which  never  shed  remorseful  ^  tear, 
No,  when  my  father  York  and  Edward  wept, 
To  hear  the  piteous  moan  that  Rutland  made 
When  black-faced  Clifford  shook  his  sword  at  him ; 
Nor  when  thy  warlike  father,  like  a  child. 
Told  the  sad  story  of  my  father's  death. 
And  twenty  times  made  pause  to  sob  and  weep. 
That  all  the  standers-by  had  wet  their  cheeks. 
Like  trees  bedash'd  with  rain  :  in  that  sad  time. 
My  manly  eyes  did  scorn  an  humble  tear ; 
And  what  these  sorrows  could  not  thence  exhale, 
Thy  beauty  hath,  and  made  them  blind  with  weep- 
ing. 

1  Pitiful. 


King  Richard  III,  259 

I  never  sued  to  friend  nor  enemy ; 
My  tongue  could  never  learn  sweet  soothing  words, 
But  now  thy  beauty  is  proposed  my  fee, 
My  proud  heart  sues,  and  prompts  my  tongue   to 
speak. 

GLOUCESTER'S  PRAISES    OF    HIS   OWN  PERSON,  AFTER 
HIS   SUCCESSFUL   ADDRESSES. 

My  dukedom  to  a  beggarly  denier,' 
I  do  mistake  my  person  all  this  while : 
Upon  my  life,  she  finds,  although  I  cannot, 
Myself  to  be  a  marvellous  proper  man. 
I  '11  be  at  charges  for  a  looking-glass, 
And  entertain  some  score  or  two  of  tailors, 
To  study  fashions  to  adorn  my  body : 
Since  I  am  crept  in  favour  with  myself, 
I  will  maintain  it  with  some  little  cost. 


FRANK   SPEECH    NO    SIGN   OF    MALICE. 

Because  I  cannot  flatter  and  speak  fair. 

Smile  in  men's  faces,  smooth,  deceive  and  cog,' 

Duck  with  French  nods  and  apish  courtesy, 

I  must  be  held  a  rancorous  enemy. 

Cannot  a  plain  man  live  and  think  no  harm. 

But  thus  his  simple  truth  must  be  abused 

By  silken,  sly,  insinuating  Jacks? 

1 A  small  French  coin.  »  Wheedle. 


26o  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

QUEEN   MARGARET'S  EXECRATIONS  ON   GLOUCESTER 

The  worm  of  conscience  still  begnaw  thy  soul ! 
Thy  friends  suspect  for  traitors  while  thou  livest, 
And  take  deep  traitors  for  thy  dearest  friends ! 
No  sleep  close  up  that  deadly  eye  of  thine, 
Unless  it  be  while  some  tormenting  dream 
Affrights  thee  with  a  hell  of  ugly  devils  \ 
Thou  elvish-mark'd,  abortive,  rooting  hog ! 
Thou  that  wast  seaPd  in  thy  nativity 
The  slave  of  nature  and  the  son  of  hell ! 
Thou  slander  of  thy  mother's  heavy  womb ! 
Thou  loathed  issue  of  thy  father's  loins ! 
Thou  rag  of  honour !  thou  detested  — 

DANGER    OF   HIGH    POSITION. 

They  that  stand  high    have    many  blasts  to  shake 

them  ; 
And  if  they  fall,  they  dash  themselves  to  pieces. 

HIGH    BIRTH. 

I  was  born  so  high, 
Our  aery  buildeth  in  the  cedar's  top. 
And  dallies  with  the  wind,  and  scorns  the  sun. 

GLOUCESTER. 

Take  heed  of  yonder  dog  ! 
Look,  when  he  fawns,  he  bites ;  and  when  he  bites. 
His  venom  tooth  will  rankle  to  the  death : 


King  Richard  III,  261 

Have  not  to  do  with  him,  beware  of  him ; 

Sin,  death,  and  hell  have  set  their  marks  on  him, 

And  all  their  ministers  attend  on  him. 


GLOUCESTER'S    HYPOCRISY. 

But  then  I  sigh ;  and,  with  a  piece  of  scripture, 
Tell  them  that  God  bids  us  do  good  for  evil : 
And  thus  I  clothe  my  naked  villany 
With  old  odd  ends  stolen  out  of  holy  writ ; 
And  seem  a  saint  when  most  I  play  the  devil. 

clarence's  dream. 
Scene.     London.     The  Tower. 
Enter  Clarence  and  Brakenbury. 
Brakenbury.     Why  looks   your  grace  so   heavily 

to-day  ? 
Clareftce.     O,  I  have  pass'd  a  miserable  night, 
So  full  of  ugly  sights,  of  ghastly  dreams. 
That,  as  I  am  a  Christian  faithful  man, 
I  would  not  spend  another  such  a  night. 
Though  't  were  to  buy  a  world  of  happy  days. 
So  full  of  dismal  terror  was  the  time ! 

Brak.     What  was  your  dream?     I  long  to  hear 

you  tell  it. 
Clar.     Methoughts  that    I    had  broken  from  the 
Tower, 
And  was  embark'd  to  cross  to  Burgundy ; 
And,  in  my  company,  my  brother  Gloucester ; 
Who  from  my  cabin  tempted  me  to  walk 


262  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Upon  the  hatches  :  thence  we  look'd  toward  England, 

And  cited  up  a  thousand  fearful  times, 

During  the  wars  of  York  and  Lancaster, 

That  had  befallen  us.     As  we  paced  along 

Upon  the  giddy  footing  of  the  hatches, 

Methought  that  Gloucester  stumbled ;  and,  in  falling, 

Struck  me,  that  thought  to  stay  him,  overboard, 

Into  the  tumbling  billows  of  the  main. 

Lord,  Lord!  methought,  what  pain  it  was  to  drown-! 

What  dreadful  noise  of  waters  in  mine  ears ! 

What  ugly  sights  of  death  within  mine  eyes ! 

Methought  I  saw  a  thousand  fearful  wrecks ; 

Ten  thousand  men  that  fishes  gnaw'd  upon ; 

Wedges  of  gold,  great  anchors,  heaps  of  pearl, 

Inestimable  stones,  unvalued  jewels, 

All  scattered  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea : 

Some  lay  in  dead  men's  skulls  ;  and,  in  those  holes 

Where  eyes  did  once  inhabit,  there  were  crept. 

As  't  were  in  scorn  of  eyes,  reflecting  gems. 

That  woo'd  the  slimy  bottom  of  the  deep. 

And  mock'd  the  dead  bones  that  lay  scattered  by. 

Brak.     Had  you  such  leisure  in  the  time  of  death, 
To  gaze  upon  these  secrets  of  the  deep  ? 

Clar.     Methought  I  had ;  and  often  did  I  strive 
To  yield  the  ghost :  but  still  the  envious  flood 
Kept  in  my  soul,  and  would  not  let  it  forth 
To  seek  the  empty,  vast  and  wandering  air ; 
But  smothered  it  within  my  panting  bulk,* 
Which  almost  burst  to  belch  it  in  the  sea. 

Brak.     Awaked  you  not  with  this  sore  agony? 

1  Body. 


King  Richard  II L  263 

Clar.     O,  no,  my  dream  was  lengthen'd  after  life : 
O,  then  began  the  tempest  to  my  soul, 
Who  pass'd,  methought,  the  melancholy  flood, 
With  that  grim  ferryman  which  poets  write  of, 
Unto  the  kingdom  of  perpetual  night. 
The  first  that  there  did  greet  my  stranger  soul, 
Was  my  great  father-in-law,  renowned  Warwick  ; 
Who  cried  aloud,  '  What  scourge  for  perjury 
Can  this  dark  monarchy  afford  false  Clarence  ? ' 
And  so  he  vanishM :   then  came  wandering  by 
A  shadow  like  an  angel,  with  bright  hair 
Dabbled  in  blood :   and  he  squeak'd  out  aloud, 
'  Clarence  is  come  ;  false,  fleeting,  perjured  Clarence, 
That  stabb'd  me  in  the  field  by  7"ewksbury ; 
Seize  on  him.  Furies,  take  him  to  your  torments  ! ' 
With  that,  methoughts,  a  legion  of  foul  fiends 
Environed  me  about,  and  howled  in  mine  ears 
Such  hideous  cries,  that  with  the  very  noise 
I  trembling  waked,  and  for  a  season  after 
Could  not  believe  but  that  I  was  in  hell, 
Such  terrible  impression  made  the  dream. 

Brak.     No  marvel,  lord,  though  it  affrighted  you : 
I  promise  you,  I  am  afraid  to  hear  you  tell  it. 

Clar.     O,  Brakenbury,  I  have  done  those  things. 
Which  now  bear  evidence  against  my  soul. 
For  Edward's  sake ;  and  see  how  he  requites  me ! 
O  God  !  if  my  deep  prayers  cannot  appease  thee, 
But  thou  wilt  be  avenged  on  my  misdeeds, 
Yet  execute  thy  wrath  in  me  alone, 
O,  spare  my  guiltless  wife  and  my  poor  children! 


264  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 


SORROW. 

Sorrow  breaks  seasons  and  reposing  hours, 

Makes  the  night  morning,  and  the  noon-tide  night. 

THE   CARES    OF    GREATNESS. 

Princes  have  but  their  titles  for  their  glories, 
An  outward  honour  for  an  inward  toil ; 
And,  for  unfelt  imagination. 
They  often  feel  a  world  of  restless  cares : 
So  that,  between  their  titles  and  low  names. 
There  's  nothing  differs  but  the  outward  fame. 

A   murderer's   account   of   CONSCIENCE. 

I  '11  not  meddle  with  it :  it  is  a  dangerous  thing : 
it  makes  a  man  a  coward :  a  man  cannot  steal,  but  it 
accuseth  him ;  he  cannot  swear,  but  it  checks  him ; 
he  cannot  lie  with  his  neighbour's  wife,  but  it  detects 
him :  't  is  a  blushing  shamefast  sjDirit  that  mutinies 
in  a  man's  bosom ;  it  fills  one  full  of  obstacles ;  it 
made  me  once  restore  a  purse  of  gold  that  I  found ; 
it  beggars  any  man  that  keeps  it ;  it  is  turned  out  of 
all  towns  and  cities  for -a  dangerous  thing;  and  every 
man  that  means  to  live  well  endeavours  to  trust  to 
himself  and  live  without  it. 


King  Richard  HI.  265 


ACT  II. 


DECEIT. 


Oh,  that  deceit  should  steal  such  gentle  shapes, 
And  with  a  virtuous  vizard  hide  foul  guile ! 

SUBMISSION   TO    HEAVEN   OUR    DUTY. 

In  common  worldly  things,  't  is  call'd  ungrateful, 
With  dull  unwillingness  to  repay  a  debt 
Which  with  a  bounteous  hand  was  kindly  lent ; 
Much  more  to  be  thus  opposite  with  heaven, 
For  it  requires  the  royal  debt  it  lent  you. 

THE   DUCHESS     OF     YORK'S     LAMENTATION     ON     THE 
MISFORTUNES    OF    HER   FAMILY. 

Accursed  and  unquiet  wrangling  days. 

How  many  of  you  have  mine  eyes  beheld ! 

My  husband  lost  his  life  to  get  the  crown ; 

And  often  up  and  down  my  sons  were  toss'd 

For  me  to  joy  and  weep  their  gain  and  loss : 

And  being  seated,  and  domestic  broils 

Clean  over-blown,  themselves,  the  conquerors,  ' 

Make  war  upon  themselves  ;  blood  against  blood. 

Self  against  self:   O,  preposterous 

And  frantic  outrage,  end  thy  damned  spleen ; 

Or  let  me  die,  to  look  on  death  no  more ! 


266  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


ACT  III. 

JULIUS    C^SAR. 

That  Julius  Caesar  was  a  famous  man ; 
With  what  his  valour  did  enrich  his  wit, 
His  wit  set  down  to  make  his  valour  live : 
Death  makes  no  conquest  of  this  conqueror ; 
For  now  he  lives  in  fame,  though  not  in  life. 

THE   VANITY   OF    TRUST    IN   MAN. 

O  momentary  grace  of  mortal  men, 

Which  we  more  hunt  for  than  the  grace  of  God  ! 

Who  builds  his  hope  in  air  of  your  good  looks, 

Lives  like  a  drunken  sailor  on  a  mast, 

Ready,  with  every  nod,  to  tumble  down 

Into  the  fatal  bowels  of  the  deep. 

THE   DEEP    TRAGEDIAN. 

Tut,  I  can  counterfeit  the  deep  tragedian ; 
Speak  and  look  back,  and  pry  on  every  side, 
Tremble  and  start  at  wagging  of  a  straw, 
Intending  deep  suspicion :  ghastly  looks 
Are  at  my  service,  like  enforced  smiles; 
And  both  are  ready  in  their  offices. 
At  any  time,  to  grace  my  stratagems. 


King  Richard  III.  267 


CONTEMPLATION. 


When  holy  and  devout  religious  men 

Are  at  their  beads,  H  is  hard  to  draw  them  thence, 

So  sweet  is  zealous  contemplation. 


ACT   IV. 

DESCRIPTION   OF    THE    MURDER    OF    THE  TWO  YOUNG 
PRINCES    IN   THE    TOWER. 

The  tyrannous  and  bloody  act  is  done, 
The  most  arch  deed  of  piteous  massacre 
That  ever  yet  this  land  was  guilty  of. 
Dighton  and  Forrest,  whom  I  did  suborn 
To  do  this  ruthless  '  piece  of  butchery. 
Albeit  they  were  flesh'd  villains,  bloody  dogs, 
Melting  with  tenderness  and  mild  compassion 
Wept  like  two  children,  in  their  death's  sad  stories. 

♦  Lo,  thus,'  quoth  Dighton,  '  lay  those  tender  babes  :  ' 

*  Thus,  thus,' quoth  Forrest,  '  girdling  one  another 
Within  their  innocent  alabaster  arms ; 

Their  lips  were  four  red  roses  on  a  stalk, 

Which  in  their  summer  beauty,  kiss'd  each  other. 

A  book  of  prayers  on  their  pillow  lay : 

Which  once,'  quoth  Forrest,    *  almost  changed   my 

mind  ; 
But,  O  !  the  devil '  —  there  the  villain  stopp'd  ; 
Whilst  Dighton  thus  told  on :    '  We  smothered 

1  Merciless, 


2  68  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

The  most  replenished  sweet  work  of  nature, 
That  from  the  prime  creation,  e'er  she  framed.' 
Thus  both  are  gone  with  conscience  and  remorse ; 
They  could  not  speak ;  and  so  I  left  them  both, 
To  bring  this  tidings  to  the  bloody  king. 


EXPEDITION. 

Come,  I  have  heard  that  fearful  commenting 

Is  leaden  servitor  to  dull  delay ; 

Delay  leads  impotent  and  snail-paced  beggary : 

Then  fiery  expedition  be  my  wing, 

Jove's  Mercury,  and  herald  for  a  king ! 


QUEEN   MARGARET'S    EXPROBRATION. 

I  call'd  thee  then  vain  flourish  of  my  fortune ; 

I  call'd  thee  then  poor  shadow,  painted  queen : 

The  presentation  of  but  what  I  was. 

The  flattering  index  ^  of  a  direful  pageant. 

One  heaved  a-high  to  be  hurl'd  down  below ; 

A  mother  only  mock'd  with  two  sweet  babes ; 

A  dream  of  what  thou  wert,  a  breath,  a  bubble, 

A  sign  of  dignity,  a  garish  ^  flag, 

To  be  the  aim  of  every  dangerous  shot ; 

A  queen  in  jest,  only  to  fill  the  scene. 

Where  is  thy  husband  now?  where  be  thy  brothers? 

Where  are  thy  children  ?  wherein  dost  thou  joy  ? 

Who  sues  to  thee  and  cries  *  God  save  the  queen '  ? 

1  The  index  was  anciently  placed  at  the  beginning  of  books. 

2  Flaring. 


King  Richard  III.  269 

Where  be  the  bending  peers  that  flattered  thee  ? 

Where  be  the  thronging  troops  that  followed  thee  ?    ■ 

Decline  all  this,  and  see  what  now  thou  art : 

For  happy  wife,  a  most  distressed  widow ; 

For  joyful  mother,  one  that  wails  the  name  ; 

For  one  being  sued  to,  one  that  humbly  sues ; 

For  queen,  a  very  caitiff  crown'd  with  care  ; 

For  one  that  scorn'd  at  me,  now  scornM  of  me ; 

For  one  being  fear'd  of  all,  now  fearing  one  ; 

For  one  commanding  all,  obey'd  of  none. 

Thus  hath  the  course  of  justice  wheePd  about, 

And  left  thee  but  a  very  prey  to  time ; 

Having  no  more  but  thought  of  what  thou  wert. 

To  torture  thee  the  more,  being  what  thou  art. 


CHARACTER   OF    KING    RICHARD   BY   HIS    MOTHER. 

Tetchy '  and  wayward  was  thy  infancy ; 
Thy  school-days  frightful,  desperate,  wild,  and  furi- 
ous; 
Thy  prime  of  manhood  daring,  bold,  and  venturous  ; 
Thy    age    confirmed,  proud,  subtle,  bloody,  treach- 


ACT  V. 

HOPE. 

True  hope  is  swift,  and  flies  with  swallows'  wings ; 
Kings  it  makes  gods,  and  meaner  creatures  kings. 

1  Touchy,  fretful. 


270  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


A   FINE   EVENING. 


The  weary  sun  hath  made  a  golden  set, 
And,  by  the  bright  track  of  his  fiery  car, 
Gives  token  of  a  goodly  day  to-morrow. 


DAY-BREAK. 

The  silent  hours  steal  on. 
And  flaky  darkness  breaks  within  the  east. 

RICHMOND'S   PRAYER. 

O  Thou  !  whose  captain  I  account  myself. 
Look  on  my  forces  with  a  gracious  eye ; 
Put  in  their  hands  thy  bruising  irons  of  wrath, 
That  they  may  crush  down  with  a  heavy  fall 
The  usurping  helmets  of  our  adversaries  ! 
Make  us  thy  ministers  of  chastisement. 
That  we  may  praise  thee  in  the  victory  ! 
To  thee  I  do  commend  my  watchful  soul. 
Ere  I  let  fall  the  windows  of  mine  eyes : 
Sleeping  and  waking,  O,  defend  me  still ! 

DREAMS    BEFORE   BATTLE. 

Ghosts.      [To  Richard.']     Dream   on  thy  cousins 
smothered  in  the  Tower : 
Let  us  be  lead  within  thy  bosom,  Richard, 
And  weigh  thee  down  to  ruin,  shame,  and  death ! 
Thy  nephews'  souls  bid  thee  despair  and  die  !  — 


King  Richard  III.  271 

\To  Richmond. ~\      Sleep,  Richmond,  sleep  in  peace, 

and  wake  in  joy ; 
Good  angels  guard  thee  from  the  boar's  annoy ! 
Live,  and  beget  a  happy  race  of  kings ! 
Edward's  unhappy  sons  do  bid  thee  flourish. 


Enter  the  Ghost  of  Lady  Anne. 

Ghost.      \To   Richard.']     Richard,  thy  wife,  that 
wretched  Anne  thy  wife, 
That  never  slept  a  quiet  hour  with  thee, 
Now  fills  thy  sleep  with  perturbations : 
To-morrow  in  the  battle  think  on  me. 
And  fall  thy  edgeless  sword :   despair,  and  die  ! 
\To  Richniond.]     Thou  quiet  soul,  sleep  thou  a  quiet 

sleep ; 
Dream  of  success  and  happy  victory  ! 
Thy  adversary's  wife  doth  pray  for  thee. 

Enter  the  Ghost  of  Buckingham. 

Ghost.     \To  Richard.]    The  first  was  I  that  help'd 
thee  to  the  crown  ; 
The  last  was  I  that  felt  thy  tyranny : 
O,  in  the  battle  think  on  Buckingham, 
And  die  in  terror  of  thy  guiltiness  ! 
Dream  on,  dream  on,  of  bloody  deeds  and  death  : 
Fainting,  despair ;  despairing,  yield  thy  breath  ! 
\To  Richmond.]     I  died   for  hope  ere  I  could  lend 

thee  aid : 
But  cheer  thy  heart,  and  be  thou  not  dismay'd  ; 


272  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

God  and  good  angels  fight  on  Richmond's  side ; 
And  Richard  falls  in  height  of  all  his  pride. 


[The  Ghosts  vanish.     King  Richard  starts  out  of  his 
drea?n.'\ 
K.  Rich.     Give  me   another   horse :  bind  up  my 
wounds. 
Have  mercy,  Jesu  !  —  Soft !    I  did  but  dream. 
O  coward  conscience,  how  dost  thou  afflict  me ! 
The  lights  burn  blue.     It  is  now  dead  midnight. 
Cold  fearful  drops  stand  on  my  trembling  flesh. 
What  do  I  fear  ?  myself  t 

CONSCIENCE. 

Conscience  is  but  a  word  that  cowards  use, 
Devised  at  first  to  keep  the  strong  in  awe. 

RICHARD'S    ADDRESS    BEFORE    THE   BATTLE. 

Hark  !    I  hear  their  drum. 
Fight,  gentlemen  of  England  !  fight,  bold  yeomen ! 
Draw,  archers,  draw  your  arrows  to  the  head  ! 
Spur  your  proud  horses  hard,  and  ride  in  blood; 
Amaze  the  welkin  with  your  broken  staves ! 

A  thousand  hearts  are  great  within  my  bosom : 
Advance  our  standards,  set  upon  our  foes ; 
Our  ancient  word  of  courage,  fair  Saint  George, 
Inspire  us  with  the  spleen  of  fiery  dragons  ! 
Upon  them  !     Victory  sits  on  our  helms. 


King  Richard  III,  273 


RICHARD'S    BEHAVIOUR   AFTER   AN   ALARUM. 

J^zng  Richard.     A  horse  !  a  horse !  my  kingdom 
for  a  horse ! 

Cate.    Withdraw,  my  lord,  I  '11  help  you  to  a  horse. 

K.  Rich.     Slave,  I  have  set  my  life  upon  a  cast, 
And  I  will  stand  the  hazard  of  the  die : 
I  think  there  be  six  Richmonds  in  the  field ; 
Five  have  I  slain  to-day,  instead  of  him. 
A  horse  !  a  horse  !  my  kingdom  for  a  horse  ! 


KING   HENRY  VIII. 


ACT   I. 


A  ROYAL   PAGEANT. 


Each  following  day 
Became  the  next  day's  master,  till  the  last 
Made  former  wonders  its.     To-day  the  French, 
All  clinquant,^  all  in  gold,  like  heathen  gods, 
Shone  down  the  Enghsh ;  and,  to-morrow,  they 
Made  Britain  India :  every  man  that  stood 
Show'd  like  a  mine.     Their  dwarfish  pages  were 
As  cherubins,  all  gilt :  the  madams  too, 
Not  used  to  toil,  did  almost  sweat  to  bear 
The  pride  upon  them,  that  their  very  labour 
Was  to  them  as  a  painting :  now  this  masque 
Was  cried  incomparable ;  and  the  ensuing  night 
Made  it  a  fool  and  beggar.     The  two  kings, 
Equal  in  lustre,  were  now  best,  now  worst, 
As  presence  did  present  them ;  him  in  eye, 
Still  him  in  praise ;  and,  being  present  both, 
'T  was  said  they  saw  but  one ;  and  no  discerner 
Durst    wag  his    tongue    in   censure.      When    these 

suns  — 
For  so  they  phrase  'em  —  by  their  heralds  challenged 

*  Glittering. 


King  Henry  VIII.  275 

The  noble  spirits  to  arms,  they  did  perform 

Beyond   thought's    compass ;    that   former    fabulous 

story, 
Being  now  seen  possible  enough,  got  credit, 
That  Bevis  was  believed. 


ANGER. 

To  climb  steep  hills 
Requires  slow  pace  at  first :   anger  is  like 
A  full-hot  horse,  who  being  allowed  his  way, 
Self-mettle  tires  him. 

ACTIONS    TO    BE   CARRIED   ON   WITH    RESOLUTION. 

If  I  am 
Traduced  by  ignorant  tongues,  which  neither  know 
My  faculties  nor  person,  yet  will  be 
The  chronicles  of  my  doing,  let  me  say, 
'T  is  but  the  fate  of  place,  and  the  rough  brake  ' 
That  virtue  must  go  through.     We  must  not  stint  ^ 
Our  necessary  actions,  in  the  fear 
To  cope  ^  malicious  censurers ;  which  ever, 
As  ravenous  fishes,  do  a  vessel  follow 
That  is  new-trim mM,  but  benefit  no  further 
Than  vainly  longing.     What  we  oft  do  best. 
By  sick  interpreters,  once  weak  ones,  is 
Not  ours,  or  not  allowed ;  ^  what  worst,  as  oft, 
Hitting  a  grosser  quality,  is  cried  up 
For  our  best  act.     If  we  shall  stand  still, 

1  Thicket  of  thorns.  2  Retard. 

8  Encounter.  *  Approved, 


276  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

In  fear  our  motion  will  be  mock'd  or  carp'd  at, 
We  should  take  root  here  where  we  sit,  or  sit 
State-statues  only. 

NEW   CUSTOMS. 

New  customs. 
Though  they  be  never  so  ridiculous, 
Nay,  let  'em  be  unmanly,  yet  are  followed. 


ACT    II. 

THE  DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM'S  PRAYER  FOR  THE 
KING. 

My  vows  and  prayers 
Yet  are  the  king's ;  and  till  my  soul  forsake. 
Shall  cry  for  blessings  on  him  :  may  he  live 
Longer  than  I  have  time  to  tell  his  years ! 
Ever  beloved  and  loving  may  his  rule  be  ! 
And  when  old  time  shall  lead  him  to  his  end. 
Goodness  and  he  fill  up  one  monument ! 

DEPENDENTS  NOT  TO  BE  TOO  MUCH  TRUSTED  BY 
GREAT  MEN. 

This  from  a  dying  man  receive  as  certain : 
Where  you  are  liberal  of  your  loves  and  counsels 
Be  sure  you  be  not  loose ;  for  those  you  make  friends 
And  give  your  hearts  to,  when  they  once  perceive 
The  least  rub  in  your  fortunes,  fall  away 
Like  water  from  ye,  never  found  again 
But  where  they  mean  to  sink  ye. 


King  Henry  FllL  277 


A   GOOD   WIFE. 

A  loss  of  her 
That,  like  a  jewel,  has  hung  twenty  years 
About  his  neck,  yet  never  lost  her  lustre ; 
Of  her  that  loves  him  with  that  excellence 
That  angels  love  good  men  with ;  even  of  her 
That,  when  the  greatest  stroke  of  fortune  falls. 
Will  bless  the  king. 

THE   BLESSINGS   OF   A   LOW   STATION. 

'T  is  better  to  be  lowly  born, 
And  range  with  humble  livers  in  content, 
Then  to  be  perk'd  up  in  a  glistering  grief, 
And  wear  a  golden  sorrow. 

QUEEN  KATHARINE'S  SPEECH  TO  HER  HUSBAND. 

Alas,  sir, 
In  what  have  I  offended  you?  what  cause 
Hath  my  'behaviour  given  to  your  displeasure. 
That  thus  you  should  proceed  to  put  me  off. 
And   take   your   good   grace    from    me  ?      Heaven 

witness, 
I  have  been  to  you  a  true  and  humble  wife, 
At  all  times  to  your  will  conformable ; 
Ever  in  fear  to  kindle  your  dislike. 
Yea,  subject  to  your  countenance,  glad  or  sorry 
As  I  saw  it  inclined :  when  was  the  hour 
I  ever  contradicted  your  desire, 


278  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Or  made  it  not  mine  too  ?     Or  which  of  your  friends 
Have  I  not  strove  to  love,  although  I  knew 
He  were  mine  enemy?  what  friend  of  mine 
That  had  to  him  derived  your  anger,  did  I 
Continue  in  my  liking?  nay,  gavp  notice 
He  was  from  thence  discharged?     Sir,  call  to  mind 
That  I  have  been  your  wife,  in  this  obedience, 
Upward  of  twenty  years,  and  have  been  blest 
With  many  children  by  you :  if,  in  the  course 
And  process  of  this  time,  you  can  report, 
And  prove  it  too,  against  mine  honour  aught, 
My  bond  to  wedlock,  or  my  love  and  duty. 
Against  your  sacred  person,  in  God's  name, 
Turn  me  away ;  and  let  the  foul'st  contempt 
Shut  door  upon  me,  and  so  give  me  up 
To  the  sharpest  kind  of  justice. 


QUEEN      KATHARINE'S     SPEECH      TO     CARDINAL 
WOLSEY. 

You  're  meek  and  humble-mouth'd ; 
You  sign  your  place  and  calling,  in  full  seeming,' 
With  meekness  and  humility ;  but  your  heart 
Is  cramm'd  with  arrogancy,  spleen,  and  pride. 
You  have,  by  fortune  and  his  highness'  favours. 
Gone  slightly  o'er  low  steps  and  now  are  mounted 
Where  powers  are  your  retainers,  and  your  words. 
Domestics  to  you,  serve  your  will  as  't  please 
Yourself  pronounce  their  office.     I  must  tell  you, 
You  tender  more  your  person's  honour  than 
Your  high  profession  spiritual. 

1  Appearance. 


King  Henry  FllL  279 

KING  henry's  character  OF  QUEEN  KATHARINE, 

That  man  i'  the  world  who  shall  report  he  has 
A  better  wife,  let  him  in  nought  be  trusted. 
For  speaking  false  in  that :  thou  art,  alone. 
If  thy  rare  qualities,  sweet  gentleness, 
Thy  meekness  saint-like,  wife-like  government. 
Obeying  in  commanding,  and  thy  parts 
Sovereign  and  pious  else,  could  speak  thee  out,' 
The  queen  of  earthly  queens. 


ACT   III. 

QUEEN   KATHARINE   ON    HER   OWN   MERIT. 

Have  I  lived  thus  long  —  let  me  speak  myself. 

Since  virtue  finds  no  friends  —  a  wife,  a  true  one? 

A  woman,  I  dare  say,  without  vain-glory, 

Never  yet  branded  with  suspicion? 

Have  I  with  all  my  full  affections 

Still  met  the  king?  loved  him  next  heaven?  obey'd 

him? 
Been,  out  of  fondness,  superstitious  to  him  ?  ^ 
Almost  forgot  my  prayers  to  content  him  ? 
And  am  I  thus  rewarded?  'tis  not  well,  lords. 
Bring  me  a  constant  woman  to  her  husband. 
One  that  ne'er  dream'd  a  joy  beyond  his  pleasure ; 
And  to  that  woman,  when  she  has  done  most, 
Yet  will  I  add  an  honour,  a  great  patience. 

1  Speak  out  thy  merits. 

«  Served  him  with  superstitious  attention. 


28o  Beauties  of  Shahspeare. 


QUEEN   KATHARINE   COMPARED    TO    A    LILY. 

Like  the  lily, 
That  once  was  mistress  of  the  field  and  flourished, 
I  '11  hang  my  head  and  perish. 

OBEDIENCE    TO    PRINCES. 

The  hearts  of  princes  kiss  obedience, 

So  much  they  love  it ;  but  to  stubborn  spirits 

They  swell,  and  grow  as  terrible  as  storms. 

A   MIND   NOT   AT   EASE. 

Some  strange  commotion 
Is  in  his  brain :  he  bites  his  lip,  and  starts ; 
Stops  on  a  sudden,  looks  upon  the  ground, 
Then  lays  his  finger  on  his  temple ;  straight, 
Springs  out  into  fast  gait ;  ^  then  stops  again. 
Strikes  his  breast  hard,  and  anon  he  casts 
His  eye  against  the  moon :   in  most  strange  postures 
We  have  seen  him  set  himself. 

FIRM    ALLEGIANCE. 

Though  perils  did 
Abound,  as  thick  as  thought  could  make  'em,  and 
Appear  in  forms  more  horrid,  —  yet  my  duty, 
As  doth  a  rock  against  the  chiding  flood, 
Should  the  approach  of  this  wild  river  oreak, 
And  stand  unshaken  yours. 

» steps. 


'      King  Henry  Fill.  281 

A  king's  anger. 

What  sudden  anger  's  this  ?  how  have  I  reap'd  it  ? 
He  parted  frowning  from  me,  as  if  ruin 
Leap'd  from  his  eyes :  so  looks  the  chafed  lion 
Upon  the  daring  huntsman  that  has  gall'd  him ; 
Then  makes  him  nothing. 

FALLING   GREATNESS. 

Nay  then,  farewell ! 
I  have  touch'd  the  highest  point  of  all  my  greatness ; 
And,  from  that  full  meridian  of  my  glory, 
I  haste  now  to  my  setting :   I  shall  fall 
Like  a  bright  exhalation  in  the  evening, 
And  no  man  see  me  more. 


THE   VICISSITUDES    OF    LIFE. 

So  farewell  to  the  little  good  you  bear  me. 
Farewell !  a  long  farewell,  to  all  my  greatness  ! 
This  is  the  state  of  man  :  to-day  he  puts  forth 
The  tender  leaves  of  hopes  ;  to-morrow  blossoms, 
And  bears  his  blushing  honours  thick  upon  him ; 
The  third  day  comes  a  frost,  a  killing  frost. 
And,  when  he  thinks,  good  easy  man,  full  surely 
His  greatness  is  a-ripening,  nips  his  root. 
And  then  he  falls,  as  I  do.     I  have  ventured. 
Like  little  wanton  boys  that  swim  on  bladders, 
This  many  summers  in  a  sea  of  glory. 
But  far  beyond  my  depth :  my  high-blown  pride 


282  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

At  length  broke  under  me  and  now  has  left  me, 
Weary  and  old  with  service,  to  the  mercy 
Of  a  rude  stream,  that  must  for  ever  hide"  me. 
Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world,  I  hate  ye ; 
I  feel  my  heart  new  openM.     O,  how  wretched 
Is  that  poor  man  that  hangs  on  princes'  favours ! 
There  is,  betwixt  that  smile  we  would  aspire  to, 
That  sweet  aspect  of  princes,  and  their  ruin, 
More  pangs  and  fears  than  wars  or  women  have : 
And  when  he  falls,  he  falls  like  Lucifer, 
Never  to  hope  again. 

CARDINAL   WOLSEY'S    SPEECH    TO    CROMWELL. 

Cromwell,  I  did  not  think  to  shed  a  tear 
In  all  my  miseries ;  but  thou  hast  forced  me 
Out  of  thy  honest  truth,  to  play  the  woman. 
Let 's  dry  our  eyes  :  and  thus  far  hear  me,  Cromwell ; 
And,  when  I  am  forgotten,  as  I  shall  be. 
And  sleep  in  dull  cold  marble,  where  no  mention 
Of  me  more  must  be  heard  of,  say,  I  taught  thee, 
Say,  Wolsey,  that  once  trod  the  ways  of  glory, 
And  sounded  all  the  depths  and  shoals  of  honour, 
Found  thee  a  way,  out  of  his  wreck,  to  rise  in ; 
A  sure  and  safe  one,  though  thy  master  miss'd  it. 
Mark  but  my  fall,  and  that  that  ruin'd  me. 
Cromwell,  I  charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition ; 
By  that  sin  fell  the  angels ;  how  can  man,  then. 
The  image  of  his  Maker,  hope  to  win  by  it? 
Love  thyself  last:   cherish  those   hearts   that   hate 
thee; 


King  Henry  yilL  283 

Corruption  wins  not  more  than  honesty. 
Still  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace, 
To  silence  envious  tongues.     Be  just,  and  fear  not : 
Let  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at  be  thy  country's, 
Thy  God's,  and  truth's ;  then  if  thou  fall'st,  O  Crom- 
well, 
Thou  fall'st  a  blessed  martyr  !     Serve  the  king ; 
And,  — prythee,  lead  me  in  : 
There  take  an  inventory  of  all  I  have. 
To  the  last  penny ;   't  is  the  king's ;   my  robe. 
And  my  integrity  to  heaven,  is  all 
I  dare  now  call  mine  own.     O  Cromwell,  Cromwell, 
Had  I  but  served  my  God  with  half  the  zeal 
I  served  my  king.  He  would  not  in  mine  age 
Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies. 


ACT    IV. 

APPLAUSE. 

Such  a  noise  arose 
As  the  shrouds  make  at  sea  in  a  stiff  tempest. 
As  loud,  and  to  as  many  tunes :  hats,  cloaks,  — 
Doublets,  I  think,  —  flew  up  ;   and  had  their  faces 
Been  loose,  this  day.  they  had  been  lost.     Such  joy 
1  never  saw  before. 

CARDINAL   WOLSEY'S    DEATH. 

At  last  with  easy  roads,  >  he  came  to  Leicester, 
Lodged  in  the  abbey ;  where  the  reverend  abbot, 

1  By  short  stages. 


284  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

With  all  his  covent,  honourably  received  him ; 
To  whom  he  gave  these  words,  '  O,  father  abbot, 
An  old  man,  broken  with  the  storms  of  state, 
Is  come  to  lay  his  weary  bones  among  ye  ; 
Give  him  a  little  earth  for  charity  ! ' 
So  went  to  bed ;  where  eagerly  his  sickness 
Pursued  him  still ;  and,  three  nights  after  this, 
About  the  hour  of  eight,  which  he  himself 
Foretold  should  be  his  last,  full  of  repentance, 
Continual  meditations,  tears,  and  sorrows. 
He  gave  his  honours  to  the  world  again. 
His  blessed  part  to  heaven,  and  slept  in  peace. 

wolsey's  vices  and  virtues. 

Queen  Katharine.     So  may  he  rest :  his  faults  lie 
gently  on  him  ! 
Yet  thus  far,  Griffith,  give  me  leave  to  speak  him, 
And  yet  with  charity.     He  was  a  man 
Of  an  unbounded  stomach,'  ever  ranking 
Himself  with  princes  ;  one  that,  by  suggestion. 
Tied  all  the  kingdom  :  simony  was  fair  play ; 
His  own  opinion  was  his  law  :  i'  the  presence  ' 
He  would  says  untruths ;  and  be  ever  double 
Both  in  his  words  and  meaning :  he  was  never. 
But  where  he  meant  to  ruin,  pitiful : 
His  promises  were,  as  he  then  was,  mighty ; 
But  his  performance,  as  he  is  now,  nothing: 
Of  his  own  body  he  was  ill,  and  gave 
The  clergy  ill  example. 

1  Pride.  «  Before  the  king. 


King  Henry  FIIL  285 

Griffith.  Noble  madam, 

Men's  evil  manners  live  in  brass ;  their  virtues 
We  write  in  water. 

This  cardinal, 
Though  from  an  humble  stock,  undoubtedly 
Was  fashioned  to  *  much  honour  from  his  cradle. 
He  was  a  scholar,  and  a  ripe  and  good  one ; 
Exceeding  wise,  fair  spoken,  and  persuading : 
Lofty  and  sour  to  them  that  loved  him  not ; 
But  to  those  men  that  sought  him  sweet  as  summer. 
And  though  he  were  unsatisfied  in  getting, 
Which  was  a  sin,  yet  in  bestowing,  madam. 
He  was  most  princely :  ever  witness  for  him 
Those  twins  of  learning  that  he  raised  in  you, 
Ipswich  and  Oxford  !  one  ^  of  which  fell  with  him, 
Unwilling  to  outlive  the  good  that  did  it ; 
The  other,  though  unfinish'd,  yet  so  famous, 
So  excellent  in  art,  and  still  so  rising. 
That  Christendom  shall  ever  speak  his  virtue. 
His  overthrow  heap'd  happiness  upon  him ; 
For  then,  and  not  till  then,  he  felt  himself, 
And  found  the  blessedness  of  being  little  ; 
And,  to  add  greater  honours  to  his  age 
Than  man  could  give  him,  he  died  fearing  God. 

Kath.     After  my  death  I  wish  no  other  herald, 
No  other  speaker  of  my  living  actions. 
To  keep  mine  honour  from  corruption. 
But  such  an  honest  chronicler  as  Griffith. 

1  Formed  for.  *  Ipswich. 


286  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Whom  I  most  hated  living,  thou  hast  made  me, 
With  thy  reUgious  truth  and  modesty, 
Now  in  his  ashes  honour :  peace  be  with  him ! 
Patience,  be  near  me  still ;  and  set  me  lower : 
I  have  not  long  to  trouble  thee.     Good  Griffith, 
Cause  the  musicians  play  me  that  sad  note 
I  named  my  knell,  whilst  I  sit  meditating 
On  that  celestial  harmony  I  go  to. 

[Sad  and  solemn  music. 
Grif,     She  is  asleep :  good  wench,  let  's  sit  down 
quiet, 
For  fear  we  wake  her :  softly,  gentle  Patience. 


ACT  V. 

MALICIOUS   MEN. 

Men  that  make 
Envy  and  crooked  malice  nourishment 
Dare  bite  the  best. 

A   CHURCHMAN. 

Love  and  meekness,  lord. 
Become  a  churchman  better  than  ambition 
Win  straying  souls  with  modesty  again, 
Cast  none  away. 

INHUMANITY. 

'T  is  a  cruelty, 
To  load  a  falling  man. 


King  Henry  Fill,  287 


ARCHBISHOP   CRANMER'S   PROPHECY. 

Let  me  speak,  sir, 
For  heaven  now  bids  me ;  and  the  words  I  utter 
Let  none  think  flattery,  for  they  '11  find  'em  truth. 
This  royal  infant  —  heaven  still  move  about  her  !  — 
Though  in  her  cradle,  yet  now  promises 
Upon  this  land  a  thousand  thousand  blessings, 
Which  time  shall  bring  to  ripeness  :  she  shall  be  — 
But  few  now  living  can  behold  that  goodness  — 
A  pattern  to  all  princes  living  with  her. 
And  all  that  shall  succeed :   Saba  was  never 
More  covetous  of  wisdom  and  fair  virtue 
Than  this  pure  soul  shall  be  :  all  princely  graces, 
That  mould  up  such  a  mighty  piece  as  this  is, 
With  all  the  virtues  that  attend  the  good, 
Shall  still  be  doubled  on  her :  truth  shall  nurse  her. 
Holy  and  heavenly  thoughts  still  counsel  her : 
She  shall  be  loved  and  fear'd :  her  own  shall  bless 

her; 
Her  foes  shake  like  a  field  of  beaten  corn, 
And  hang  their  heads  with  sorrow :  good  grows  with 

her: 
In  her  days  every  man  shall  eat  in  safety, 
Under  his  own  vine,  what  he  plants ;  and  sing 
The  merry  songs  of  peace  to  all  his  neighbours ; 
God  shall  be  truly  known ;  and  those  about  her 
From  her  shall  read  the  perfect  ways  of  honour, 
And  by  those  claim  their  greatness,  not  by  blood. 
Nor  shall  this  peace  sleep  with  her :  but  as  when 


288  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

The  bird  of  wonder  dies,  the  maiden  phoenix. 
Her  ashes  new  create  another  heir,  >, 

As  great  in  admiration  as  herself; 
So  shall  she  leave  her  blessedness  to  one, 
When  heaven  shall  call  her  from  this  cloud  of  dark- 
ness. 
Who  from  the  sacred  ashes  of  her  honour 
Shall  star-like  rise,  as  great  in  fame  as  she  was, 
And  so  stand  fixM :  peace,  plenty,  love,  truth,  terror. 
That  were  the  servants  to  this  chosen  infant, 
Shall  then  be  his,  and  like  a  vine  grow  to  him : 
Wherever  the  bright  sun  of  heaven  shall  shine, 
His  honour  and  the  greatness  of  his  name 
Shall  be,  and  make  new  nations :  he  shall  flourish, 
And,  like  a  mountain  cedar,  reach  his  branches 
To  all  the  plains  about  him :  our  children's  children 
Shall  see  this,  and  bless  heaven. 


END  OF   VOLUME   I. 


THE    BEAUTIES 


SHAKSPEARE 


REV.    WILLIAM    DODD,    LL.D. 


Revised,  Corrected,  and  Enlarged 


Volume  II 


NEW  YORK:    46  East  14TH  Street 

THOMAS    Y.    CROWELL    &    COMPANY 

BOSTON:  100  Purchase  Street 


CONTENTS. 

VOL.    II. 


TRAGEDIES. 

i»AGE 

Antony  and  Cleopatra   3 

coriolanus 20 

Cymbeline 36 

Hamlet 56 

Julius  Caesar 91 

King  Lear '.     .     .116 

Macbeth 137 

Othello 160 

Romeo  and  Juliet 180 

TiMON  OF  Athens 204 

Titus  Andronicus 219 

Troilus  and  Cressida 224 

Index *     .     .  247 

(iii) 


PART   III. 

TRAGEDIES, 


Vo.  II.  — I. 


THE 

Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 


TRAGEDIES. 

ANTONY   AND   CLEOPATRA. 

ACT    I. 

LOVE   THE   NOBLENESS   OF   LIFE. 

Antony.     Let  Rome  in  Tiber  melt,  and  the  wide 
arch 
Of  the  ranged  empire  fall !     Here  is  my  space. 
Kingdoms  are  clay :  our  dungy  earth  alike 
Feeds  beast  as  man :  the  nobleness  of  life 
Is  to  do  thus ;  when  such  a  mutual  pair  [Embracing. 
And  such  a  twain  can  do  't,  in  which  I  bind, 
On  pain  of  punishment,  the  world  to  weet  ^ 
We  stand  up  peerless. 

Cleopatra.  ^        Excellent  falsehood ! 

Why  did  he  marry  Fulvia,  and  not  love  her? 

^Know. 


4  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

I  '11  seem  the  fool  I  am  not ;  Antony 
Will  be  himself. 

AnL  But  stirr'd  by  Cleopatra. 

Now,  for  the  love  of  Love  and  her  soft  hours. 

Antony's  vices  and  virtues. 

I  must  not  think  there  are 

Evils  enow  to  darken  all  his  goodness : 

His  faults  in  him  seem  as  the  spots  of  heaven, 

More  fiery  by  night's  blackness  ;   hereditary, 

Rather  than  purchased ;  '  what  he  cannot  change, 

Than  what  he  chooses. 

CcBsar.     You  are  too  indulgent.     Let  us  grant,  it 
is  not 
Amiss  to  tumble  on  the  bed  of  Ptolemy ; 
To  give  a  kingdom  for  a  mirth  ;   to  sit 
And  keep  the  turn  of  tippling  with  a  slave ; 
To  reel  the  streets  at  noon,  and  stand  the  buffet 
With  knaves  that  smell  of  sweat :  say  this  becomes 

him,  — 
As  his  composure  must  be  rare  indeed 
Whom  these  things  cannot  blemish,  —  yet  must  An- 
tony 
No  way  excuse  his  soils,  when  we  do  bear 
So  great  weight  in  his  lightness. 2     If  he  fill'd 
His  vacancy  with  his  voluptuousness, 
Full  surfeits,  and  the  dryness  of  his  bones. 
Call  on  him  '  for  't :  but  to  confc^d  ^  such  time, 

1  Procured  by  his  own  fault.  *  Levity. 

»  Visit  him.  *  Consume. 


Antony  and  Cleopatra,  5 

That  drums  him  from  his  sport,  and  speaks  as  loud 
As  his  own  state  and  ours,  —  't  is  to  be  chid 
As  we  rate  boys,  who,  being  mature  in  knowledge, 
Pawn  their  experience  to  their  present  pleasure, 
And  so  rebel  to  judgment. 

Antony, 
Leave  thy  lascivious  wassails.^     When  thou  once 
Wast  beaten  from  Modena,  where  thou  slew'st 
Hirtius  and  Pansa,  consuls,  at  thy  heel 
Did  famine  follow ;  whom  thou  fought'st  against. 
Though  daintily  brought  up,  with  patience  more 
Than  savages  could  suffer :  thou  didst  drink 
The  staled  of  horses,  and  the  gilded  puddle  ^ 
Which  beasts  would  cough  at :  thy  palate  then  did 

deign 
The  roughest  berry  on  the  rudest  hedge  ; 
Yea,  like  the  stag,  when  snow  the  pasture  sheets, 
The  barks  of  trees  thou  browsed'st ;  on  the  Alps 
It  is  reported  thou  didst  eat  strange  flesh. 
Which  some  did  die  to  look  on :   and  all  this  — 
It  wounds  thine  honour  that  I  speak  it  now  — 
Was  borne  so  like  a  soldier,  that  thy  cheek 
So  much  as  lank'd  not. 

Cleopatra's  solicitude  on  the  absence  of 

ANTONY. 

O  Charmian, 
Where  think'st  thou  he  is  now?  Stands  he,  or  sits  he ? 

1  Feastings ;  in  the  old  copy  it  is  vaissailes,  i.e.  vassals. 
»  Urine.  '  Stagnant,  slimy  water. 


6  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Or  does  he  walk  ?  or  is  he  on  his  horse  ? 

O  happy  horse,  to  bear  the  weight  of  Antony ! 

Do    bravely,    horse !   for   wot'st    thou   whom    thou 

movest  ? 
The  demi-Atlas  of  this  earth,  the  arm 
And  burgonet  *  of  men.     He  's  speaking  now, 
Or  murmuring  '  Where  's  my  serpent  of  old  Nile?  ' 
For  so  he  calls  me :  now  I  feed  myself 
With  most  delicious  poison.     Think  on  me, 
That  am  with  Phoebus'  amorous  pinches  black. 
And  wrinkled  deep  in  time  ?     Broad-fronted  Caesar, 
When  thou  wast  here  above  the  ground,  I  was 
A  morsel  for  a  monarch  :  and  great  Pompey 
Would  stand  and  make  his  eyes  grow  in  my  brow ; 
There  would  he  anchor  his  aspect  and  die 
With  looking  on  his  life. 


ACT    II. 

THE   VANITY   OF   HUMAN   WISHES. 

We,  ignorant  of  ourselves, 
Beg  often  our  own  harms,  which  the  wise  powers 
Deny  us  for  our  good ;  so  find  we  profit 
By  losing  of  our  prayers. 

DESCRIPTION   OF   CLEOPATRA   SAILING   DOWN    THE 
CYDNUS. 

The  barge  she  sat  in,  like  a  burnish'd  throne, 
BurnM  on  the  water :  the  poop  was  beaten  gold ; 

»  A  helmet. 


Antony  and  Cleopatra.  7 

Purple  the  sails,  and  so  perfumed  that 

The  winds  were  love-sick  with  them ;  the  oars  were 

silver, 
Which  to  the  tune  of  flutes  kept  stroke,  and  made 
The  water  which  they  beat  to  follow  faster, 
As  amorous  of  their  strokes.     For  her  own  person, 
It  beggared  all  description :  she  did  lie 
In  her  pavilion  —  cloth-of-gold  of  tissue  — 
O'er-picturing  that  Venus  where  we  see 
The  fancy  outwork  nature  :  on  each  side  her 
Stood  pretty  dimpled  boys,  like  smiling  Cupids, 
With  divers-colour'd  fans,  whose  wind  did  seem 
To  glow  the  delicate  cheeks  which  they  did  cool, 
And  what  they  undid  did.* 

Agrippa.  O,  rare  for  Antony ! 

Enobarbiis.     Her  gentlewomen,  like  the  Nereides, 
So  many  mermaids,  tended  her  i'  the  eyes. 
And  made  their  bends  adornings :  at  the  helm 
A  seeming  mermaid  steers  :  the  silken  tackle 
Swell  with  the  touches  of  those  flower-soft  hands, 
That  yarely  frame  ^  the  office.     From  the  barge 
A  strange  invisible  perfume  hits  the  sense 
Of  the  adjacent  wharfs.     The  city  cast 
Her  people  out  upon  her ;  and  Antony, 
Enthroned  i'  the  market-place,  did  sit  alone, 
Whistling  to  the  air;  which,  but  for  vacancy, 
Had  gone  to  gaze  on  Cleopatra  too 
And  made  a  gap  in  nature. 

1  Added  to  the  warmth  they  were  intended  to  diminish. 
«  Readily  performed. 


8  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

CLEOPATRA'S    INFINITE    POWER    IN   PLEASING. 

Age  cannot  wither  her,  nor  custom  stale 

Her  infinite  variety :   other  women 

Cloy  the  appetites  they  feed :  but  she  makes  hungry 

Where  most  she  satisfies :  for  vilest  things 

Become  themselves  in  her ;  that  the  holy  priests 

Bless  her  when  she  is  riggish.' 

THE   UNSETTLED    HUMOURS    OF   LOVERS. 

Cleopatra.     Give  me  some  music  ;  music,  moody  ' 
food 
Of  us  that  trade  in  love. 

Attendant.  The  music,  ho! 

Enter  Mardian,  the  Eunuch. 
Cleo.     Let  it  alone  ;  let 's  to  billiards  : 
Come,  Charmian. 

Charmian.     My  arm  is  sore  ;  best  play  with  Mar- 
dian. 
Cleo.     As  well  a  woman  with  an  eunuch  play'd 
As  with  a  woman.     Come,  you  Ul  play  with  me,  sir  ? 
Mardian.     As  well  as  I  can,  madam. 
Cleo.     And  when  good  will  is  show'd,   though 't 
come  too  short, 
The  actor  may  plead  pardon.     I  '11  none  now  : 
Give  me  mine  angle  ;  we  '11  to  the  river :  there. 
My  music  playing  far  off,  I  will  betray 
Tawny-finn'd  fishes ;  my  bended  hook  shall  pierce 

'  Wanton.  *  Melancholy. 


Antony  and  Cleopatra,  9 

Their  slimy  jaws  ;  and,  as  I  draw  them  up, 
I  '11  think  them  every  one  an  Antony, 
And  say  '  Ah,  ha  !  you  're  caught.' 

Char.  'T  was  merry  when 

You  wager'd  on  your  angling ;  when  your  diver 
Did  hang  a  salt-fish  on  his  hook,  which  he 
With  fervency  drew  up. 

Cleo.  That  time,  —  O  times  !  — 

I  laugh'd  him  out  of  patience ;  and  that  night 
I  laugh'd  him  into  patience :  and  next  morn. 
Ere  the  ninth  hour,  I  drunk  him  to  his  bed ; 
Then  put  my  tires  ^  and  mantles  on  him,  whilst 
I  wore  his  sword  Philippan. 


ACT   III. 

AMBITION   JEALOUS   OF   A   TOO    SUCCESSFUL   FRIEND. 

O  Silius,  Silius, 
I  have  done  enough ;  a  lower  place,  note  well. 
May  make  too  great  an  act :  for  learn  this,  Silius  ; 
Better  to  leave  undone,  than  by  our  deed  acquire 
Too  high  a  fame  when  him  we  serve  's  away. 

WHAT  OCTAVIA'S  ENTRANCE  SHOULD  HAVE  BEEN. 

Why  have  you  stol'n  upon  us  thus  ?    You  come  not 
Like  Caesar's  sister :  the  wife  of  Antony 
Should  have  an  army  for  an  usher,  and 
The  neighs  of  horse  to  tell  of  her  approach 

1  Head-dress. 


lo  Beauties  of  Shahspeare. 

Long  ere  she  did  appear ;  the  trees  by  the  way 
Should  have  borne  men ;  and  expectation  fainted, 
Longing  for  what  it  had  not ;  nay,  the  dust 
Should  have  ascended  to  the  roof  of  heaven, 
Raised  by  your  populous  troops :  but  you  are  come 
A  market-maid  to  Rome ;  and  have  prevented 
The  ostentation^  of  our  love,  which,  left  unshown. 
Is  often  left  unloved :  we  should  have  met  you 
By  sea  and  land  ;  supplying  every  stage 
With  an  augmented  greeting. 

WOMEN. 

Women  are  not 
In  their  best  fortunes  strong ;  but  want  will  perjure 
The  ne'er-touch'd  vestal. 


FORTUNE  FORMS  OUR  JUDGMENTS. 

I  see  men's  judgments  are 
A  parcel  ^  of  their  fortunes  ;  and  things  outward 
Do  draw  the  inward  quality  after  them. 
To  suffer  all  alike. 

LOYALTY. 

Mine  honesty  and  I  begin  to  square.' 

The  loyalty  well  held  to  fools  does  make 

Our  faith  mere  folly :  yet  he  that  can  endure 

To  follow  with  allegiance  a  fall'n  lord 

Does  conquer  him  that  did  his  master  conquer, 

And  earns  a  place  i'  the  story. 

1  Show,  token.         2  Are  of  a  piece  with  them.  s  Quarrel. 


Antony  and  Cleopatra.  ii 


WISDOM    SUPERIOR    TO   FORTUNE. 

Wisdom  and  fortune  combating  together, 
if  that  the  former  dare  but  what  it  can, 
No  chance  may  shake  it. 

VICIOUS   PERSONS   INFATUATED   BY    HEAVEN. 

But  when  we  in  our  viciousness  grow  hard  — 
O  misery  on  't !  —  the  wise  gods  seel  ^  our  eyes  ; 
In  our  own  filth  drop  our  clear  judgments ;  make  us 
Adore  our  errors  ;  laugh  at 's,  while  we  strut 
To  our  confusion. 

FURY    EXPELS   FEAR. 

Now  he  '11  outstare  the  lightning.     To  be  furious, 
Is  to  be  frighted  out  of  fear ;  and  in  that  mood 
The  dove  will  peck  the  estridge ;  ^  and  I  see  still, 
A  diminution  in  our  captain's  brain 
Restores  his  heart :  when  valour  preys  on  reason, 
It  eats  the  sword  it  fights  with. 


ACT   IV. 

A   MASTER   TAKING   LEAVE   OF   HIS   SERVANTS. 

Tend  me  to-night ; 
May  be  it  is  the  period  of  your  duty : 
Haply  ^  you  shall  not  see  me  more  ;  or  if, 
A  mangled  shadow  :  perchance  to-morrow 

1  Close  up.  2  Ostrich.  3  Perhaps. 


1 2  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

You  '11  serve  another  master.     I  look  on  you 
As  6ne  that  takes  his  leave.     Mine  honest  friends, 
I  turn  you  not  away ;  but,  like  a  master 
Married  to  your  good  service,  stay  till  death : 
Tend  me  to-night  two  hours,  I  ask  no  more, 
And  the  gods  yield  ^  you  for 't ! 

EARLY   RISING    THE   WAY   TO    EMINENCE. 

This  morning,  like  the  spirit  of  a  youth 
That  means  to  be  of  note,  begins  betimes. 

ANTONY   TO    CLEOPATRA,    AT    HIS    RETURN   WITH 
VICTORY. 

O  thou  day  o'  the  world, 
Chain  mine  arm'd  neck ;  leap  thou,  attire  and  all, 
Through  proof  of  harness  ^  to  my  heart,  and  there 
Ride  on  the  pants  triumphing  ! 

LOATHED    LIFE. 

O  sovereign  mistress  of  true  melancholy. 

The  poisonous  damp  of  night  disponge  ^  upon  me, 

That  life,  a  very  rebel  to  my  will. 

May  hang  no  longer  on  me. 

ANTONY'S    DESPONDENCY. 

O  sun,  thy  uprise  shall  I  see  no  more : 
Fortune  and  Antony  part  here ;  even  here 

1  Reward.  2  Armour  of  proof. 

8  Discharge,  as  a  sponge  when  squeezed  discharges  the  moist- 
ure it  had  imbibed. 


Antony  and  Cleopatra.  13 

Do  we  shake  hands.     All  come  to  this?     The  hearts 
That  spaniePd  me  at  heels,  to  whom  I  gave 
Their  wishes,  do  discandy,  melt  their  sweets 
On  blossoming  Caesar ;  and  this  pine  is  bark'd, 
That  overtoppM  them  all. 


DEPARTING    GREATNESS. 

The  soul  and  body  rive  ^  not  more  in  parting 
Than  greatness  going  off. 


ANTONY'S    REFLECTIONS    ON   HIS   FADED    GLORY. 

Sometime  we  see  a  cloud  that 's  dragonish ; 

A  vapour  sometime  like  a  bear  or  lion, 

A  tower'd  citadel,  a  pendent  rock, 

A  forked  mountain,  or  blue  promontory 

With  trees  upon  't,  that  nod  unto  the  world, 

And   mock  our  eyes  with  air :  thou  hast  seen  these 

signs ; 
They  are  black  vesper's  pageants. 

Eros.  Ay,  my  lord, 

Antony.     That  which  is  now  a  horse,    even  with 
a  thought 
The  rack  2  dislimns,  and  makes  it  indistinct. 
As  water  is  in  water. 

Eros.  It  does,  my  lord. 

Ant.  My  good  knave  ^  Eros,  now  thy  captain  is 
Even  such  a  body :  here  I  am  Antony ; 
Yet  cannot  hold  this  visible  shape,  my  knave. 

1  Split.  2  The  fleeting  clouds.  s  Servant. 


14  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

I  made  these  wars  for  Egypt ;  and  the  queen,  — 
Whose  heart  I  thought  I  had,  for  she  had  mine ; 
Which  whilst  it  was  mine  had  annexed  unto  't 
A  million  more,  now  lost,  —  she,  Eros,  has 
Pack'd  cards  with  Caesar,  and  false-playM  my  glory 
Unto  an  enemy's  triumph. 
Nay,  weep  not,  gentle  Eros ;  there  is  left  us 
Ourselves  to  end  ourselves. 

DESCRIPTION   OF   CLEOPATRA'S    SUPPOSED   DEATH. 

Death  of  one  person  can  be  paid  but  once. 

And  that  she  has  discharged :  what  thou  wouldst  do 

Is  done  unto  thy  hand :  the  last  she  spake 

Was  '  Antony  !  most  noble  Antony  ! ' 

Then  in  the  midst  a  tearing  groan  did  break 

The  name  of  Antony ;  it  was  divided 

Between  her  heart  and  lips :  she  rendered  life, 

Thy  name  so  buried  in  her. 

CLEOPATRA'S  REFLECTIONS  ON  THE  DEATH  OF 
ANTONY. 

Cleopatra.         Noblest  of  men,  woo't  die? 
Hast  thou  no  care  of  me .''  shall  I  abide 
In  this  dull  world,  which  in  thy  absence  is 
No  better  than  a  sty?     O,  see,  my  women, 

[Antony  dies. 
The  crown  o'  the  earth  doth  melt.     My  lord  ! 
O,  withered  is  the  garland  of  the  war. 
The  soldier's  pole  is  fall'n :  young  boys  and  girls 
Are  level  now  with  men ;  the  odds  is  gone, 


Antony  and  Cleopatra.  15 

And  there  is  nothing  left  remarkable 

Beneath  the  visiting  moon.  [^Faints. 

Charmian.  O,  quietness,  lady  ! 

Iras.     She  is  dead  too,  our  sovereign. 

Char.  Lady ! 

Iras.  Madam ! 

Char.     O  madam,  madam,  madam  ! 

Iras.  Royal  Egypt, 

Empress ! 

Char.     Peace,  peace,  Iras  ! 

Cleo.    No  more,  but  e'en  a  woman,  and  commanded 
By  such  poor  passion  as  the  maid  that  milks 
And  does  the  meanest  chares.^     It  were  for  me 
To  throw  my  sceptre  at  the  injurious  gods ; 
To  tell  them  that  this  world  did  equal  theirs 
Till  they  had  stol'n  our  jewel.     All 's  but  naught ; 
Patience  is  sottish,  and  impatience  does 
Become  a  dog  that 's  mad :  then  is  it  sin 
To  rush  into  the  secret  house  of  death. 
Ere  death  dare  come  to  us?     How  do  you,  women? 
What,  what !  good  cheer !     Why,  how  now,  Char- 
mian ! 
My  noble  girls !     Ah,  women,  women,  look. 
Our  lamp  is  spent,  it 's  out !     Good  sirs,  take  heart : 
We  '11   bury  him ;  and  then,   what 's    brave,  what 's 

noble. 
Let 's  do  it  after  the  high  Roman  fashion, 
And  make  death  proud  to  take  us.     Come,  away : 
This  case  of  that  huge  spirit  now  is  cold. 

1  Occasional  work.   The  word  is  still  used  as  chores  in  America. 


1 6  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


ACT   V. 


DEATH. 


My  desolation  does  begin  to  make 

A  better  life.     'T  is  paltry  to  be  Caesar ; 

Not  being  Fortune,  he  's  but  Fortune's  knave,* 

A  minister  of  her  will :  and  it  is  great 

To  do  that  thing  that  ends  all  other  deeds ; 

Which  shackles  accidents  and  bolts  up  change ; 

Which  sleeps,  and  never  palates  more  the  dug, 

The  beggar's  nurse  and  Caesar's. 

CLEOPATRA'S   DESCRIPTION   OF    ANTONY. 

Cleopatra.     I     dream'd   there    was    an    Emperor 
Antony : 

O,  such  another  sleep,  that  I  might  see 

But  such  another  man  ! 

Dolabella.  If  it  might  please  ye,  — 

Cleo.     His  face  was  as  the  heavens ;  and  therein 
stuck 

A  sun  and  moon,  which  kept  their  course,  and  lighted 

The  little  O,  the  earth. 

Dol.  Most  sovereign  creature,  — 

Cleo.     His  legs  bestrid  the  ocean :  his  rear'd  arm 

Crested  the  world :  his  voice  was  propertied 

As  all  the  tun^d  spheres,  and  that  to  friends ; 

But  when  he  meant  to  quail  ^  and  shake  the  orb, 

He  was  as  rattling  thunder.     For  his  bounty, 

1  Servant.  *  Crush. 


Antony  and  Cleopatra,  17 

There  was  no  winter  in  't ;  an  autumn  't  was 

That  grew  the  more  by  reaping :  his  delights 

Were  dolphin-like ;  they  show'd  his  back  above 

The  element  they  lived  in :  in  his  livery 

Walk'd  crowns  and    crownets ;    realms    and  islands 

were 
As  plates  ^  dropp'd  from  his  pocket. 

FIRM    RESOLUTION. 

What  poor  an  instrument 
May  do  a  noble  deed !  he  brings  me  liberty. 
My  resolution  's  placed,  and  I  have  nothing 
Of  woman  in  me  :  now  from  head  to  foot 
I  am  marble-constant;  now  the  fleeting^  moon 
No  planet  is  of  mine. 

Cleopatra's  speech  on  applying  the  asp. 

Give  me  my  robe,  put  on  my  crown ;  I  have 

Immortal  longings  in  me  :   now  no  more 

The  juice  of  Egypt's  grape  shall  moist  this  lip  : 

Yare,  yare,^  good  Iras ;  quick.     Methinks  I  hear 

Antony  call ;  I  see  him  rouse  himself 

To  praise  my  noble  act ;  I  hear  him  mock 

The  luck  of  Caesar,  which  the  gods  give  men 

To  excuse  their  after  wrath  :   husband,  I  come : 

Now  to  that  name  my  courage  prove  my  title ! 

I  am  fire  and  air ;  my  other  elements 

I  give  to  baser  life.     So ;  have  you  done? 

1  Silver  money.  2  Inconstant.  3  Make  haste. 


m 


1 8  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Come  then,  and  take  the  last  warmth  of  my  lips. 
Farewell,  kind  Charmian  ;   Iras,  long  farewell. 

[Kisses  them.     lra.s  falls  and  dies. 
Have  I  the  aspic  in  my  lips  ?     Dost  fall  ? 
If  thou  and  nature  can  so  gently  part. 
The  stroke  of  death  is  as  a  lover's  pinch, 
Which  hurts,  and  is  desired.     Dost  thou  lie  still? 
If  thus  thou  vanishest,  thou  tell'st  the  world 
It  is  not  worth  leave-taking. 

Charmiafi.     Dissolve,  thick  cloud,  and  rain  ;   that 
I  may  say, 
The  gods  themselves  do  weep  ! 

Cleopatra.  This  proves  me  base  : 

If  she  first  meet  the  curled  Antony, 
He  '11  make  demand  of  her,  and  spend  that  kiss 
Which  is  my  heaven  to  have. 
Come,  thou  mortal  wretch, 

[To  an  asp  which  she  applies  to  her  breast. 
With  thy  sharp  teeth  this  knot  intrinsicate 
Of  life  at  once  untie :  poor  venomous  fool, 
Be  angry,  and  dispatch.     O,  couldst  thou  speak, 
That  I  might  hear  thee  call  great  Caesar  ass 
Unpolicied.^ 

Char.         O  eastern  star ! 

Cleo.  Peace,  peace ! 

Dost  thou  not  see  my  baby  at  my  breast, 
That  sucks  the  nurse  asleep? 

Char.  O,  break  !  O,  break  ! 

Cleo.  As  sweet  as  balm,  as  soft  as  air,  as  gentle, — 

1  Unpolitic,  to  leave  me  to  myself. 


Antony  and  Cleopatra,  19 

O  Antony !  —  Nay,  I  will  take  thee  too  : 

[Applying  another  asp  to  her  arm. 
What  should  I  stay  —  [Dies. 

Char.     In  this  vile  world  ?     So,  fare  thee  well. 
Now  boast  thee,  death,  in  thy  possession  lies 
A  lass  unparallePd. 


CORIOLANUS. 
ACT   I. 

A    MOB. 

What  would  you  have,  you  curs, 
That  like  nor  peace  nor  war  ?  the  one  affrights  you, 
The  other  makes  you  proud.     He  that  trusts  to  you, 
Where  he  should  find  you  lions,  finds  you  hares ; 
Where  foxes,  geese :  you  are  no  surer,  no. 
Than  is  the  coal  of  fire  upon  the  ice, 
Or  hailstone  in  the  sun.     Your  virtue  is 
To  make  him  worthy  whose  offence  subdues  him 
And  curse  that  justice  did  it.     Who  deserves  great- 
ness 
Deserves  your  hate  ;  and  your  affections  are 
A  sick  man's  appetite,  who  desires  most  that 
Which  would  increase  his  evil.     He  that  depends 
Upon  your  favours  swims  with  fins  of  lead 
And  hews  down  oaks  with  rushes.     Hang  ye  !  Trust 

ye? 
With  every  minute  you  do  change  a  mind, 
And  call  him  noble  that  was  now  your  hate. 
Him  vile  that  was  your  garland. 


Coriolanus,  21 


CORIOLANUS   WARRING. 

Methinks  I  hear  hither  your  husband's  drum, 
See  him  pluck  Aufidius  down  by  the  hair, 
As  children  from  a  bear,  the  Volsces  shunning  him : 
Methinks  I  see  him  stamp  thus,  and  call  thus : 
'  Come  on,  you  cowards  !  you  were  got  in  fear, 
Though  you  were  born  in  Rome' :   His  bloody  brow 
With  his  maiPd  hand  then  wiping,  forth  he  goes, 
Like  to  a  harvest-man  that  's  task'd  to  mow 
Or  all  or  lose  his  hire. 

Virgilia.     His     bloody    brow!      O    Jupiter,    no 
blood  ! 

Volutnnia.     Away,  you  fool !  it  more  becomes  a 
man 
Than  gilt  his  trophy :  the  breasts  of  Hecuba, 
When  she  did  suckle  Hector^  look'd  not  lovelier 
Than  Hector's  forehead  when  it  spit  forth  blood 
At  Grecian  sword,  contemning. 

DOING   OUR   DUTY    MERITS    NOT   PRAISE. 

Pray  now,  no  more  :   my  mother, 
Who  has  a  charter  *  to  extol  her  blood. 
When  she  does  praise  me  grieves  me.     I  have  done 
As  you  have  done ;  that  's  what  I  can  ;  induced 
As  you  have  been  ;   that  's  for  my  country : 
He  that  has  but  effected  his  good  will 
Hath  overta'en  mine  act. 

1  Privilege. 


22  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


AUFIDIUS'S    HATRED    TO    CORIOLANUS. 

Nor  sleep  nor  sanctuary, 
Being  naked,  sick,  nor  fane  nor  Capitol, 
The  prayers  of  priests  nor  times  of  sacrifice, 
Embarquements  all  of  fury,  shall  lift  up 
Their  rotten  privilege  and  custom  'gainst 
My  hate  to  Marcius :  where  I  find  him,  were  it 
At  home,  upon  my  brother's  guard,'  even  there, 
Against  the  hospitable  canon,  would  I 
Wash  my  fierce  hand  in  's  heart. 


ACT   II. 

POPULARITY. 

All  tongues  speak  of  him,  and  the  bleared  sights 
Are  spectacled  to  see  him :  your  prattling  nurse 
Into  a  rapture  ^  lets  her  baby  cry 
While  she  chats  him :  the  kitchen  malkin  ^  pins 
Her  richest  lockram^  'bout  her  reechy^  neck, 
Clambering   the   walls   to   eye   him:    stalls,    bulks, 

windows, 
Are  smother'd  up,  leads  filPd,  and  ridges  horsed 
With  variable  complexions,  all  agreeing 
In  earnestness  to  see  him:  seld-shown^  flamens'' 
Do  press  among  the  popular  throngs  and  puff 
To  win  a  vulgar  station  :  ^  our  veil'd  dames 

1  My  brother  posted  to  protect  him.        *  pit. 

8  Maid.  *  Best  linen. 

6  Soiled  with  sweat  and  smoke.  ^  Seldom  shown. 

'Priests.  « Common  staning-place. 


Coriolanu$.  23 

Commit  the  war  of  white  and  damask  in 
Their  nicely-gawded  ^  cheeks  to  the  wanton  spoil 
Of  Phoebus'  burning  kisses  :   such  a  pother 
As  if  that  whatsoever  god  who  leads  him 
Were  slily  crept  into  his  human  powers 
And  gave  him  graceful  posture. 

COMINIUS'S    PRAISE   OF   CORIOLANUS   IN  THE  SENATE. 

I  shall  lack  voice  :  the  deeds  of  Coriolanus 

Should  not  be  utter'd  feebly.     It  is  held 

That  valour  is  the  chiefest  virtue,  and 

Most  dignifies  the  haver :  '^  if  it  be, 

The  man  I  speak  of  cannot  in  the  world 

Be  singly  counterpoised.     At  sixteen  years, 

When  Tarquin  made  a  head  for  Rome,  he  fought 

Beyond  the  mark  of  others  :  our  then  dictator. 

Whom  with  all  praise  I  point  at,  saw  him  fight, 

When  with  his  Amazonian  chin  ^  he  drove 

The  bristled  '*  lips  before  him :   he  bestrid 

An  o'er-press'd  Roman  and  i'  the  consul's  view 

Slew  three  opposers  :  Tarquin's  self  he  met. 

And  struck  him  on  his  knee :  in  that  day's  feats, 

When  he  might  act  the  woman  in  the  scene, ^ 

He  proved  best  man  i'  the  field,  and  for  his  meed  ^ 

Was  brow-bound  with  the  oak.     His  pupil  age 

Man-enter'd  thus,  he  waxed  like  a  sea, 

And  in  the  brunt  of  seventeen  battles  since 

1  Adorned.  2  possessor. 

8  Without  a  beard.  *  Bearded. 

5  Smooth-faced  enough  to  act  a  woman's  part.  0  Reward. 


24  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

He  lurched  '  all  swords  of  the  garland.    For  this  last, 

Before  and  in  Corioli,  let  me  say, 

I  cannot  speak  him  home :  he  stopped  the  fliers ; 

And  by  his  rare  example  made  the  coward 

Turn  terror  into  sport :  as  weeds  before 

A  vessel  under  sail,  so  men  obeyed 

And  fell  below  his  stem  :  his  sword,  death's  stami>, 

Where  it  did  mark,  it  took ;  from  face  to  foot 

He  was  a  thing  of  blood,  whose  every  motion  2 

Was  timed  ^  with  dying  cries  :  alone  he  entered 

The  mortal  gate  of  the  city,  which  he  painted 

With  shunless  destiny ;  aidless  came  off, 

And  with  a  sudden  re-enforcement  struck 

Corioli  like  a  planet :   now  all  's  his  : 

When,  by  and  by,  the  din  of  war  'gan  pierce 

His  ready  sense  ;  then  straight  his  doubled  spirit 

Re-quicken'd  what  in  flesh  was  fatigate,* 

And  to  the  battle  came  he ;  where  he  did 

Run  reeking  o'er  the  lives  of  men,  as  if 

'T  were  a  perpetual  spoil :  and  till  we  calPd 

Both  field  and  city  ours,  he  never  stood 

To  ease  his  breast  with  panting. 


ACT   HI. 

THE   MISCHIEF   OF   ANARCHY. 

My  soul  aches 
To  know,  when  two  authorities  are  up, 

»Won.  » stroke. 

»  Followed.  *  Wearied. 


Coriolanus.  25 

Neither  supreme,  how  soon  confusion 
May  enter  'twixt  the  gap  of  both  and  take 
The  one  by  the  other. 


CHARACTER   OF   CORIOLANUS. 

His  nature  is  too  noble  for  the  world : 

He  would  not  flatter  Neptune  for  his  trident, 

Or  Jove  for  's  power  to  thunder.     His  heart  's  his 

mouth : 
What  his  breast  forges,  that  his  tongue  must  vent ; 
And,  being  angry,  does  forget  that  ever 
He  heard  the  name  of  death. 

HONOUR   AND   POLICY. 

I  have  heard  you  say, 
Honour  and  policy,  like  unsever'd  friends, 
r  the  war  do  grow  together :  grant  that,  and  tell  me, 
In  peace  what  each  of  them  by  the  other  lose, 
That  they  combine  not  there. 

THE   METHOD   TO    GAIN   POPULAR   FAVOUR. 

Go  to  them,  with  this  bonnet  in  thy  hand ; 

And   thus   far  having   stretch'd   it  —  here   be   with 

them  — 
Thy  knee  bussing  the  stones  —  for  in  such  business 
Action  is  eloquence,  and  the  eyes  of  the  ignorant 
More  learned  than  the  ears  —  waving  thy  head, 
Which  often,  thus,  correcting  thy  stout  heart. 
Now  humble  as  the  ripest  mulberry 


26  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

That  will  not  hold  the  handling :  or  say  to  them. 

Thou  art  their  soldier,  and  being  bred  in  broils 

Hast  not  the  soft  way  which,  thou  dost  confess, 

Were  fit  for  thee  to  use  as  they  to  claim. 

In  asking  their  good  loves,  but  thou  wilt  frame 

Thyself,  forsooth,  hereafter  theirs,  so  far 

As  thou  hast  power  and  person. 


CORIOLANUS'S   ABHORRENCE   OF   FLATTERY. 

Well,  I  must  do  't : 
Away,  my  disposition,  and  possess  me 
Some  harlot's  spirit !     My  throat  of  war  be  turned, 
Which  quired  with  my  drum,  into  a  pipe 
Small  as  an  eunuch,  or  the  virgin  voice 
That  babies  lulls  asleep  !     The  smiles  of  knaves 
Tent  ^  in  my  cheeks  and  schoolboys'  tears  take  up 
The  glasses  of  my  sight !     A  beggar's  tongue 
Make  motion  through  my  lips,  and  my  arm'd  knees^ 
Who  bow'd  but  in  my  stirrup,  bend  like  his 
That  hath  received  an  alms  !     I  will  not  do  't, 
Lest  I  surcease  to  honour  mine  own  truth 
And  by  my  body's  action  teach  my  mind 
A  most  inherent  baseness. 

VOLUMNIA'S   RESOLUTION   ON   THE   PRIDE   OF 
CORIOLANUS. 

At  thy  choice,  then  : 
To  beg  of  thee,  it  is  my  more  dishonour 

1  Dwell. 


Coriolanus,  27 

Than  thou  of  them.     Come  all  to  ruin ;  let 

Thy  mother  rather  feel  thy  pride  than  fear 

Thy  dangerous  stoutness,  for  I  mock  at  death 

With  as  big  heart  as  thou.     Do  as  thou  list. 

Thy  valiantness  was  mine,  thou  suck'dst  it  from  me, 

But  owe  ^  thy  pride  thyself. 

CORIOLANUS'S  DETESTATION  OF  THE  VULGAR. 

You  common  cry  ^  of -curs  !  whose  breath  I  hate 
As  reek  ^  o'  the  rotten  fens,  whose  loves  I  prize 
As  the  dead  carcasses  of  unburied  men 
That  do  corrupt  my  air,  I  banish  you ; 
And  here  remain  with  your  uncertainty  ! 
Let  every  feeble  rumour  shake  your  hearts ! 
Your  enemies,  with  nodding  of  their  plumes, 
Fan  you  into  despair !     Have  the  power  still 
To  banish  your  defenders ;  till  at  length 
Your  ignorance,  which  finds  not  till  it  feels, 
Making  not  reservation  of  yourselves, 
Still  your  own  foes,  deliver  you  as  most 
Abated  *  captives  to  some  nation 
That  won  you  without  blows  ! 


ACT   IV. 

PRECEPTS   AGAINST    ILL   FORTUNE. 

You  were  used 
To  say  extremity  was  the  trier  of  spirits  ; 

1  Own.  2  pax:k.  » Vapour.  *  Subdued. 


2  8  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

That  common  chances  common  men  could  bear ; 
That  when  the  sea  was  calm  all  boats  alike 
ShowM  mastership  in  floating ;  fortune's  blows, 
When   most    struck   home,  being   gentle   wounded, 

craves 
A  noble  cunning :  you  were  used  to  load  me 
With  precepts  that  would  make  invincible 
The  heart  that  conn'd  them. 


ON   COMMON   FRIENDSHIPS. 

O  world,  thy  slippery  turns  !    Friends  now  fast  sworn, 
Whose  double  bosoms  seem  to  wear  one  heart, 
Whose  hours,  whose  bed,  whose  meal,  and  exercise, 
Are  still  together,  who  twin,  as  't  were,  in  love 
Unseparable,  shall  within  this  hour, 
On  a  dissension  of  a  doit,i  break  out 
To  bitterest  enmity :  so,  fellest  foes. 
Whose  passions  and  whose  plots  have  broke  their 

sleep 
To  take  the  one  the  other,  by  some  chance. 
Some  trick  not  worth  an  egg,  shall  grow  dear  friends 
And  interjoin  their  issues. 


MAGNANIMOUS   FOES. 

If,  Tullus, 
Not  yet  thou  knowest  me,  and,  seeing  me,  dost  not 
Think  me  for  the  man  I  am,  necessity 
Commands  me  name  myself. 

*  A  small  coin. 


Coriolanus.  29 

Aufidius.  What  is  thy  name? 

Coriolanus.     A  name  unmusical  to  the  Volscians' 
ears, 
And  harsh  in  sound  to  thine. 

Auf.  Say,  what 's  thy  name  ? 

Thou  hast  a  grim  appearance,  and  thy  face 
Bears  a  command  in  't ;  though  thy  tackle  's  torn, 
Thou  show'st  a  noble  vessel :  what 's  thy  name  ? 

Cor.     Prepare  thy  brow  to  frown :  know'st  thou 
me  yet  ? 

Auf.     I  know  thee  not :  thy  name  ? 

Cor.     My  name  is  Caius  Marcius,  who  hath  done 
To  thee  particularly  and  to  all  the  Volsces 
Great  hurt  and  mischief;  thereto  witness  may 
My  surname,  Coriolanus  :  the  painful  service, 
The  extreme  dangers  and  the  drops  of  blood 
Shed  for  my  thankless  country  are  requited 
But  with  that  surname  ;  a  good  memory, 
And  witness  of  the  malice  and  displeasure 
Which    thou    shouldst    bear   me :    only   that     name 

remains ; 
The  cruelty  and  envy  of  the  people, 
Permitted  by  our  dastard  nobles,  who 
Have  all  forsook  me,  hath  devoured  the  rest ; 
And  suffered  me  by  the  voice  of  slaves  to  be 
Whoop'd  out  of  Rome.     Now  this  extremity 
Hath  brought  me  to  thy  hearth ;  not  out  of  hope  — 
Mistake  me  not  —  to  save  my  life,  for  if 
I  had  fear'd  death,  of  all  the  men  i'  the  world 
I  would  have  'voided  thee,  but  in  mere  spite, 
To  be  full  quit  of  those  my  banishers, 


so  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Stand  I  before  thee  here.     Then  if  thou  hast 

A  heart  of  wreak  in  thee,  that  wilt  revenge 

Thine  own  particular  wrongs  and  stop  those  maims 

Of    shame    seen    through    thy    country,    speed    thee 

straight. 
And  make  my  misery  serve  thy  turn :  so  use  it 
That  my  revengeful  services  may  prove 
As  benefits  to  thee,  for  I  will  fight 
Against  my  canker'd  country  with  the  spleen 
Of  all  the  under  fiends.     But  if  so  be 
Thou  darest  not  this  and  that  to  prove  more  fortunes 
Thou  'rt  tired,  then,  in  a  word,  I  also  am 
Longer  to  live  most  weary,  and  present 
My  throat  to  thee  and  to  thy  ancient  malice ; 
Which  not  to  cut  would  show  thee  but  a  fool, 
Since  I  have  ever  follow'd  thee  with  hate. 
Drawn  tuns  of  blood  out  of  thy  country's  breast, 
And  cannot  live  but  to  thy  shame,  unless 
It  be  to  do  thee  service. 

All/.  O  Marcius,  Marcius  ! 

Each  word  thou  hast   spoke  hath  weeded  from  my 

heart 
A  root  of  ancient  envy.     If  Jupiter 
Should  from  yond  cloud  speak  divine  things. 
And  say  ♦  'T  is  true,'  I  'Id  not  believe  them  more 
Than  thee,  all  noble  Marcius. 


MARTIAL   FRIENDSHIP. 

Let  me  twine 
Mine  arms  about  that  body,  where  against 


Coriolanus.  31 

My  grained  ash  an  hundred  times  hath  broke, 

And  scarr'd  the  moon  with  spHnters :  here  I  clip 

The  anvil  of  my  sword,  and  do  contest 

As  hotly  and  as  nobly  with  thy  love 

As  ever  in  ambitious  strength  I  did 

Contend  against  thy  valour.     Know  thou  first, 

I  loved  the  maid  I  married ;  never  man 

Sigh'd  truer  breath ;  but  that  I  see  thee  here. 

Thou  noble  thing !  more  dances  my  rapt  heart 

Than  when  I  first  my  wedded  mistress  saw 

Bestride  my  threshold.    Why,  thou  Mars  !  I  tell  thee, 

We  have  a  power  on  foot ;  and  I  had  purpose 

Once  more  to  hew  thy  target  from  thy  brawn, 

Or  lose  mine  arm  for 't :  thou  hast  beat  me  out 

Twelve  several  times,  and  I  have  nightly  since 

Dreamt  of  encounters  'twixt  thyself  and  me  ; 

We  have  been  down  together  in  my  sleep. 

Unbuckling  helms,  fisting  each  other's  throat, 

And  waked  half  dead  with  nothing.    Worthy  Marcius, 

Had  we  no  quarrel  else  to  Rome,  but  that 

Thou  art  thence  banish'd,  we  would  muster  all 

From  twelve  to  seventy,  and  pouring  war 

Into  the  bowels  of  ungrateful  Rome, 

Like  a  bold  flood  o'er-bear.     O,  come,  go  in, 

And  take  our  friendly  senators  by  the  hands ; 

Who  now  are  here,  taking  their  leaves  of  me. 

Who  am  prepared  against  your  territories. 

Though  not  for  Rome  itself. 

Coriolanus.  You  bless  me,  gods ! 

Aufidius,     Therefore,   most  absolute   sir,  if  thou 
wilt  have 


32  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

The  leading  of  thine  own  revenges,  take 
The  one  half  of  my  commission  ;  and  set  down  — 
As  best  thou  art  experienced,  since  thou  know'st 
Thy  country's  strength  and  weakness,  —  thine  own 

ways  ; 
Whether  to  knock  against  the  gates  of  Rome, 
Or  rudely  visit  them  in  parts  remote. 
To  fright  them,  ere  destroy.     But  come  in : 
Let  me  commend  thee  first  to  those  that  shall 
Say  yea  to  thy  desires.     A  thousand  welcomes  ! 
And  more  a  friend  than  e'er  an  enemy ; 
Yet,    Marcius,   that  was  much.     Your  hand :    most 

welcome ! 


ACT   V. 

THE   SEASON   OF   SOLICITATION. 

He  was  not  taken  well ;  he  had  not  dined  : 

The  veins  unfilPd,  our  blood  is  cold,  and  then 

We  pout  upon  the  morning,  are  unapt 

To  give  or  to  forgive ;  but  when  we  have  stuflf'd 

These  pipes  and  these  conveyances  of  our  blood 

With  wine  and  feeding,  we  have  suppler  souls 

Than  in  our  priest-like  fasts:    therefore  I  '11  watch 

him 
Till  he  be  dieted  to  my  request. 

OBSTINATE^  RESOLUTION. 

My  wife  comes  foremost ;  then  the  honour'd  mould 
Wherein  this  trunk  was  framed,  and  in  her  hand 


Coriolanus.  33 

The  grandchild  to  her  blood.     But,  out,  affection ! 

All  bond  and  privilege  of  nature,  break  ! 

Let  it  be  virtuous  to  be  obstinate. 

What  is,  that  curtesy  worth  ?  or  those  doves'  eyes. 

Which  can  make  gods  forsworn.'*     I  melt,   and  am 

not 
Of  stronger  earth  than  others.     My  mother  bows  ; 
As  if  Olympus  to  a  molehill  should 
In  suppHcation  nod  :   and  my  young  boy 
Hath  an  aspect  of  intercession,  which 
Great  nature  cries  '  Deny  not.'     Let  the  Volsces 
Plough  Rome,  and  harrow  Italy :  I  '11  never 
Be  such  a  gosling', to  obey  instinct,  but  stand, 
As  if  a  man  were  author  of  himself 
And  knew  no  other  kin. 

RELENTING   TENDERNESS. 

Like  a  dull  actor  now, 
I  have  forgot  my  part,  and  I  am  out, 
Even  to  a  full  disgrace.     Best  of  my  flesh, 
Forgive  my  tyranny ;  but  do  not  say 
For  that  '  Forgive  our  Romans.'     O,  a  kiss 
Long  as  my  exile,  sweet  as  my  revenge  ! 
Now,  by  the  jealous  queen  ^  of  heaven,  that  kiss 
I  carried  from  thee,  dear ;  and  my  true  lip 
Hath  virgin'd  it  e'er  since.     You  gods  !  I  prate, 
And  the  most  noble  mother  of  the  world 
L.eave  unsaluted  :  sink,  my  knee,  i'  the  earth  ; 

[Kneels 

1  A  young  goose,  2  Juno. 


34  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Of  thy  deep  duty  more  impression  show 
Than  that  of  common  sons. 


CHASTITY. 

The  noble  sister  of  Publicola, 
The  moon  of  Rome,  chaste  as  the  icicle 
That  's  curdled  by  the  frost  from  j)urest  snow 
And  hangs  on  Dian's  temple  :  dear  Valeria  ! 

CORIOLANUS'S    PRAYER    FOR    HIS    SON. 

The  god  of  soldiers, 
With  the  consent  of  supreme  Jove,  inform 
Thy  thoughts  with  nobleness ;  that  thou  mayst  prove 
To  shame  unvulnerable,  and  stick  i'  the  wars 
Like  a  great  sea-mark,  standing  every  flaw,* 
And  saving  those  that  eye  thee  ! 

volumnia's  pathetic  speech  to  her  son 
coriolanus. 

Think  with  thyself 
How  more  unfortunate  than  all  living  women 
Are   we  come  hither :    since  that    thy  sight,  which 

should 
Make  our  eyes  flow  with  joy,  hearts  dance  with  com- 
forts, 
Constrains  them  weep  and  shake  with  fear  and  sor- 
row ; 
Making  the  mother,  wife  and  child  to  see 

1  Gust,  storm. 


Coriolanus,  35 

The  son,  the  husband  and  the  father  tearing 
His  country's  bowels  out.     And  to  poor  we 
Thine  enmity  's  most  capital :   thou  barr'st  us 
Our  prayers  to  the  gods,  which  is  a  comfort 
That  all  but  we  enjoy. 

We  must  find 
An  evident  calamity,  though  we  had 
Our  wish,  which  side  should  win ;  for  either  thou 
Must,  as  a  foreign  recreant,  be  led 
With  manacles  thorough  our  streets,  or  else 
Triumphantly  tread  on  thy  country's  ruin. 
And  bear  the  palm  for  having  bravely  shed 
Thy  wife  and  children's  blood.     For  myself,  son, 
I  purpose  not  to  wait  on  fortune  till 
These  wars  determine  :  Mf  I  cannot  persuade  thee 
Rather  to  show  a  noble  grace  to  both  parts 
Than  seek  the  end  of  one,  thou  shalt  no  sooner 
March  to  assault  thy  country  than  to  tread  — 
Trust  to 't,  thou  shalt  not  —  on  thy  mother's  womb, 
That  brought  thee  to  this  world. 

PEACE    AFTER    A    SIEGE. 

Ne'er  through  an  arch  so  hurried  the  blown  tide, 
As  the  recomforted  through  the  gates.   Why,  hark  you ! 
The  trumpets,  sackbuts,  psalteries  and  fifes. 
Tabors  and  cymbals  and  the  shouting  Romans, 
Make  the  sun  dance. 

1  Conclude. 


CYMBELINE 


ACT    1. 


PARTING   LOVERS. 


Imogen.      Thou  shouldst  have  made  him 
As  little  as  a  crow,  or  less,  ere  left 
To  after-eye  him. 

Pisanio.  Madam,  so  I  did. 

lino.       I    would    have     broke    mine     eye-strings; 
crack'd  them,  but 
To  look  upon  him,  till  the  diminution 
Of  space  had  pointed  him  sharp  as  my  needle, 
Nay,  followed  him,  till  he  had  melted  from 
The  smallness  of  a  gnat  to  air,  and  then 
Have  turned  mine  eye  and  wept.     But,  good  Pisanio, 
When  shall  we  hear  from  him  ? 

Pis.  Be  assured,  madam, 

With  his  next  vantage.' 

Into.     I  did  not  take  my  leave  of  him,  but  had 
Most  pretty  things  to  say :  ere  I  could  tell  him 
How  I  would  think  on  him  at  certain  hours 
Such  thoughts  and  such,  or  I  could  make  him  swear 
The  shes  of  Italy  should  not  betray 
Mine  interest  and  his  honour,  or  have  charged  him, 

1  Opportunity. 


Cymbeline.  37 

At  the  sixth  hour  of  morn,  at  noon,  at  midnight, 
To  encounter  me  with  orisons,^  for  then 
I  am  in  heaven  for  him ;  or  ere  I  could 
Give  him  that  parting  kiss  which  I  had  set 
Betwixt  two  charming  words,  comes  in  my  father 
And  like  the  tyrannous  breathing  of  the  north 
Shakes  all  our  buds  from  growing. 

THE   BASENESS    OF    FALSEHOOD    TO    A   WIFE. 

Doubting  things  go  ill  often  hurts  more 
Than  to  be  sure  they  do  ;  for  certainties 
Either  are  past  remedies,  or,  timely  knowing, 
The  remedy  then  born  —  discover  to  me 
What  both  you  spur  and  stop.^ 

lachimo.  Had  I  this  cheek 

To  bathe  my  lips  upon ;  this  hand,  whose  touch, 
Whose  every  touch,  would  force  the  feeler's  soul 
To  the  oath  of  loyalty ;  this  object,  which 
Takes  prisoner  the  wild  motion  of  mine  eye. 
Fixing  it  only  here;  should  I,  damn'd  then, 
Slaver  with  lips  as  common  as  the  stairs 
That  mount  the  Capitol ;  join  gripes  with  hands 
Made  hard  with  hourly  falsehood  —  falsehood,  as 
With  labour ;  then  by-peeping  in  an  eye 
Base  and  unlustrous  as  the  smoky  light 
That 's  fed  with  stinking  tallow ;  it  were  fit 
That  all  the  plagues  of  hell  should  at  one  time 
Encounter  such  revolt. 

1  Meet  me  with  reciprocal  prayer. 

2  What  you  seem  anxious  to  utter,  and  yet  withhold. 


38  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


ACT   II. 

IMOGEN'S   CHAMBER. 

Scene.     A  Bedchamber ;  in  one  cor  tier  of  it  a  Trunk. 
Imogen  in  Bed,  reading;  a  Lady  attending. 

I?nogen.  Mine  eyes  are  weak: 

Fold  down  the  leaf  where  I  have  left :  to  bed  : 
Take  not  away  the  taper,  leave  it  burning ; 
And  if  thou  canst  awake  by  four  o'  the  clock, 
I  prythee,  call  me.     Sleep  hath  seized  me  wholly. 

\_Exit  Lady. 
To  your  protection  I  commend  me,  gods. 
From  fairies  and  the  tempters  of  the  night 
Guard  me,  beseech  ye 

[Sleeps.     lachimo  comes  fro?n  the  Trunk. 

lachimo.      The    crickets    sing,    and    man's    o'er- 
labour'd  sense 
Repairs  itself  by  rest.      Our  Tarquin  thus 
Did  softly  press  the  rushes,^  ere  he  waken'd 
The  chastity  he  wounded.     Cytherea, 
How  bravely  thou  becomest  thy  bed,  fresh  lily, 
And  whiter  than  the  sheets  !     That  I  might  touch ! 
But  kiss  ;   one  kiss]     Rubies  unparagon'd. 
How  dearly  they  do  't  !     'T  is  her  breathing  that 
Perfumes  the  chamber  thus :  the  flame  o'  the  taper 
Bows  toward  her,  and  would  under-peep  her  lids, 
To  see  the  enclosed  lights,  now  canopied 
Under  these  windows,  white  and  azure  laced 

1  It  was  anciently  the  custom  to  strew  chambers  with  rushes. 


Cymhelim.  39 

With  blue  of  heaven's  own  tinct.^     But  my  design, 

To  note  the  chamber :   I  will  write  all  down  : 

Such  and  such  pictures  ;  there  the  window  ;  such 

The  adornment  of  her  bed  ;  the  arras  \^  figures, 

Why,  such  and  such ;  and  the  contents  o'  the  story. 

Ah,  but  some  natural  notes  about  her  body. 

Above  ten  thousand  meaner  movables 

Would  testify,  to  enrich  mine  inventory. 

O  sleep,  thou  ape  of  death,  lie  dull  upon  her ! 

And  be  her  sense  but  as  a  monument. 

Thus  in  a  chapel  lying  !     Come  off,  come  off: 

[Taking  off  her  Bracelet. 
As  slippery  as  the  Gordian  knot  was  hard ! 
'T  is  mine  ;  and  this  will  witness  outwardly. 
As  strongly  as  the  conscience  does  within, 
To  the  madding  of  her  lord.     On  her  left  breast 
A  mole  cinque-spotted,  like  the  crimson  drops 
r  the  bottom  of  a  cowslip  :  here  's  a  voucher, 
Stronger  than  ever  law  could  make :  this  secret 
Will  force  him  think  I  have  picked  the  lock  and  ta'en 
The  treasure  of  her  honour.     No  more.     To  what 

end? 
Why  should  I  write  this  down,  that  's  riveted, 
Screw'd    to  my  memory?     She    hath    been    reading 

late 
The  tale  of  Tereus  ;  here  the  leaf  's  turned  down 
Where  Philomel  gave  up.     I  have  enough : 
To  the  trunk  again,  and  shut  the  spring  of  it. 
Swift,  swift,  you  dragons  of  the  night,  that  dawning 

1  i.e.  The  white  skin  laced  with  blue  veins. 

2  Tapestry. 


40  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

May  bare  the  raven's  eye  !     I  lodge  in  fear ; 
Though  this  a  heavenly  angel,  hell  is  here. 


GOLD. 

'T  is  gold 
Which  buys  admittance ;  oft  it  doth  ;  yea,  and  makes 
Diana's  rangers  false  themselves,  yield  up 
Their  deer  to  the  stand  o'  the  stealer ;  and   't  is  gold 
Which  makes  the  tn.ie  man  kill'd  and  saves  the  thief; 
Nay,    sometime    hangs    both    thief    and   true    man : 

what 
Can  it  not  do  and  undo? 


A    SATIRE   ON   WOMEN. 

Is  there  no  way  for  men  to  be  but  women 

Must  be  half- workers  ?     We  are  all  bastards  ; 

And  that  most  venerable  man  which  I 

Did  call  my  father,  was  I  know  not  where 

When  I  was  stamp'd ;  some  coiner  with  his  tools 

Made  me  a  counterfeit :  yet  my  mother  seem'd 

The  Dian  of  that  time  :  so  doth  my  wife 

The  nonpareil  of  this.     O,  vengeance,  vengeance  ! 

Me  of  my  lawful  pleasure  she  restrained 

And  pray'd  me  oft  forbearance ;  did  it  with 

A  pudency '  so  rosy  the  sweet  view  on  't 

Might  well  have  warm'd  old  Saturn  ;   that  I  thought 

her 
As  chaste  as  unsunn'd  snow. 

*  Modesty, 


Cymheline.  41 

Could  I  find  out 
The  woman's  part  in  me  !     For  there  's  no  motion 
That  tends  to  vice  in  man,  but  I  affirm 
It  is  the  woman's  part :  be  it  lying,  note  it, 
The  woman's  ;  flattering,  hers  ;  deceiving,  hers  ; 
Lust  and  rank  thoughts,  hers,  hers  ;   revenges,  hers ; 
Ambitions,  covetings,  change  of  prides,  disdain, 
Nice  longing,  slanders,  mutability, 
All  faults  that  may  be  named,  nay,  that  hell  knows. 
Why,  hers,  in  part  or  all ;  but  rather,  all ; 
For  even  to  vice 

They  are  not  constant,  but  are  changing  still 
One  vice,  but  qf  a  minute  old,  for  one 
Not  half  so  old  as  that.     I  '11  write  against  them. 
Detest  them,  curse  them :  yet  't  is  greater  skill 
In  a  true  hate,  to  pray  they  have  their  will : 
The  very  devils  cannot  plague  them  better. 


ACT    III. 

IMPATIENCE   OF   A   WIFE    TO    MEET    HER    HUSBAND. 

O,  for  a  horse  with  wings!     Hear'st  thou,  Pisanio.^ 
He  is  at  Milford-Haven :  read,  and  tell  me 
How  far  't  is  thither.     If  one  of  mean  aifairs 
May  plod  it  in  a  week,  why  may  not  I 
Glide  thither  in  a  day?     Then,  true  Pisanio,  — 
Who  long'st,  like  me,  to  see  thy  lord  ;  who  long'st,  — 
O,  let  me  bate,  —  but  not  like  me  —  yet  long'st, 
But  in  a  fainter  kind :  —  O,  not  like  me ; 


42  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

For  mine 's  beyond  beyond  —  say,  and  speak  thick  ;  • 
Love's  counsellor  should  fill  the  bores  of  hearing, 
To  the  smothering  of  the  sense  —  how  far  it  is 
To  this  same  blessed  Milford :  and  by  the  way 
Tell  me  how  Wales  was  made  so  happy  as 
To  inherit  such  a  haven :  but  first  of  all. 
How  we  may  steal  from  hence,  and  for  the  gap 
That  we  shall  make  in  time,  from  our  hence-going 
And  our  return,  to  excuse  :  but  first,  how  get  hence : 
Why  should  excuse  be  born  or  e'er  begot? 
We  '11  talk  of  that  hereafter.     Pry  thee,  speak, 
How  many  score  of  miles  may  we  well  ride 
'Twixt  hour  and  hour? 

Pisanio.  One  score  'twixt  sun  and  sun, 

Madam,  's   enough  for  you :   \Aside\  and  too   much 
too. 

Imogen.     Why,  one  that  rode  to  's  execution,  man. 
Could  never  go   so  slow :   I   have    heard  of  riding 

wagers, 
Where  horses  have  been  nimbler  than  the  sands 
That  run  i'  the  clock's  behalf.      But  this  is  foolery : 
Go  bid  my  woman  feign  a  sickness  ;  say 
She  '11  home  to  her  father :  and  provide  me  presently 
A  riding-suit,  no  costlier  than  would  fit 
A  franklin's  '^  housewife. 

Pis.  Madam,  you  're  best  consider. 

Imo.     I  see  before  me,  man:  nor  here,  nor  here. 
Nor  what  ensues,  but  have  a  fog  in  them, 
That  I  cannot  look  through.     Away,  I  prythee ; 

1  Crowd  one  word  on  another,  !is  fast  as  possible. 
«  A  freeholder. 


Cymheline.  43 

Do  as  I  bid  thee :  there  's  no  more  to  say ; 
Accessible  is  none  but  Milford  way. 

Scene.     Wales.     A  mountainous  Country,  with  a 
Cave. 

Belarius.     A  goodly  day  not  to  keep  house,  with 
such 
Whose  roof  's  as  low  as  ours  !    Stoop,  boys  ;  this  gate 
Instructs  you  how  to  adore  the  heavens  and  bows  you 
To  a  morning's  holy  office  :  the  gates  of  monarchs 
Are  arch'd  so  high  that  giants  may  jet  ^  through 
And  keep  their  impious  turbans  on,  without 
Good  morrow  to  the  sun.     Hail,  thou  fair  heaven ! 
We  house  i'  the  rock,  yet  use  thee  not  so  hardly 
As  prouder  livers  do. 

Guiderius.  Hail,  heaven  ! 

Arviragus .  Hail,  heaven  ! 

Bel.     Now  for  our  mountain  sport :  up  to  yond  hill ; 
Your  legs  are  young ;  I  '11  tread  these  flats.    Consider, 
When  you  above  perceive  me  like  a  crow. 
That  it  is  place  which  lessens  and  sets  off: 
And  you  may  then  revolve  what  tales  I  have  told  you 
Of  courts,  of  princes,  of  the  tricks  in  war : 
This  service  is  not  service,  so  being  done, 
But  being  so  allow'd :  to  apprehend  thus, 
Draws  us  a  profit  from  all  things  we  see ; 
And  often,  to  our  comfort,  shall  we  find 
The  sharded  ^  beetle  in  a  safer  hold 
Than  is  the  full-wing'd  eagle.     O,  this  life 
Is  nobler  than  attending  for  a  check, 

1  Strut,  walk  proudly.  *  Scaly -winged. 


44  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Richer  than  doing  nothing  for  a  bauble, 
Prouder  than  rustling  in  unpaid-for  silk : 
Such  gain  the  cap  of  him  that  makes  'em  fine, 
Yet  keeps  his  book  uncrossed:   no  life  to  ours.^ 

Gui.     Out  of  your    proof   you    speak :    we,  poor 
unfledged. 
Have  never  wing'd  from  view  o'  the  nest,  nor  know 

not 
What  air's  from  home.     Haply  this  life  is  best, 
If  quiet  life  be  best ;   sweeter  to  you 
That  have  a  sharper  known ;  well  corresponding 
With  your  stiff  age :  but  unto  us  it  is 
A  cell  of  ignorance  ;  travelling  a-bed  ; 
A  prison  for  a  debtor,  that  not  dares 
To  stride  a  limit. ^ 

Arv.     What  should  we  speak  of 
When  we  are  old  as  you?  when  we  shall  hear 
The  rain  and  wind  beat  dark  December,  how, 
In  this  our  pinching  cave,  shall  we  discourse 
The  freezing  hours  away?     We  have  seen  nothing; 
We  are  beastly,  subtle  as  the  fox  for  prey. 
Like  warlike  as  the  wolf  for  what  we  eat ; 
Our  valour  is  to  chase  what  flies  ;   our  cage 
We  make  a  quire,  as  doth  the  prisoned  bird, 
And  sing  our  bondage  freely. 

Bel.  How  you  speak  ! 

Did  you  but  know  the  city's  usuries 
And  felt  them  knowingly ;   the  art  o'  the  court. 
As  hard  to  leave  as  keep ;  whose  top  to  climb 
Is  certain  falling,  or  so  slippery  that 

^  i.t.  Compared  with  ours.  *  To  overpass  his  bound.. 


Cymbeline.  45 

The  fear  's  as  bad  as  falling ;  the  toil  o'  the  war, 

A  pain  that  only  seems  to  seek  out  danger 

r  the  name  of  fame  and  honour;   which  dies  i'  the 

search, 
And  hath  as  oft  a  slanderous  epitaph 
As  record  of  fair  act ;   nay,  many  times, 
Doth  ill  deserve  by  doing  well ;  what  's  worse. 
Must  courtesy  at  the  censure  :  —  O  boys,  this  story 
The  world  may  read  in  me :   my  body  's  marked 
With  Roman  swords,  and  my  report  was  once 
First  with  the  best  of  note :  Cymbeline  loved  me, 
And  when  a  soldier  was  the  theme,  my  name 
Was  not  far  off:   then  was  I  as  a  tree 
Whose   boughs    did   bend    with    fruit :    but    in    one 

night, 
A  storm  or  robbery,  call  it  what  you  will, 
Shook  down  my  mellow  hangings,  nay,  my  leaves. 
And  left  me  bare  to  weather. 

Gtd.     Uncertain  favour ! 

Bel.     My  fault  being  nothing  —  as    I    have    told 
you  oft  — 
But  that  two  villains,  whose  false  oaths  prevail'd 
Before  my  perfect  honour,  swore  to  Cymbeline 
I  was  confederate  with  the  Romans :  so 
Follow'd  my  banishment,  and  this  twenty  years 
This  rock  and  these  demesnes  have  been  my  world ; 
Where  I  have  lived  at  honest  freedom,  paid 
More  pious  debts  to  heaven  than  in  all 
The  fore-end  of  my  time.     But  up  to  the  mountains  ! 
This  is  not  hunters'  language  :   he  that  strikes 
1  he  venison  first  shall  be  the  lord  o'  the  feast ; 


46  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

To  him  the  other  two  shall  minister ; 
And  we  will  fear  no  poison,  which  attends 
In  place  of  greater  state. 


THE   FORCE   OF   NATURE. 

How  hard  it  is  to  hide  the  sparks  of  nature  ! 
These  boys  know  little  they  are  sons  to  the  king; 
Nor  Cymbeline  dreams  that  they  are  alive. 
They  think  they  are  mine  ;   and  though  train'd   up 

thus  meanly 
V  the  cave  wherein  they  bow,  their  thoughts  do  hit 
The  roofs  of  palaces,  and  nature  prompts  them 
In  simple  and  low  things  to  prince  it  much 
Beyond  the  trick  of  others.     This  Polydore, 
The  heir  of  Cymbeline  and  Britain,  who 
The  king  his  father  call'd  Guiderius,  — Jove  ! 
When  on  my  three-foot  stool  I  sit  and  tell 
The  warlike  feats  I  have  done,  his  spirits  fly  out 
Into  my  story :   say  '  Thus  mine  enemy  fell, 
And  thus  I  set  my  foot  on  's  neck ; '  even  then 
The  princely  blood  flows  in  his  cheek,  he  sweats. 
Strains  his  young  nerves  and  puts  himself  in  posture 
That  acts  my  words.     The  younger  brother,  Cadwal, 
Once  Arviragus,  in  as  like  a  figure. 
Strikes  life  into  my  speech  and  shows  much  more 
His  own  conceiving. 

SLANDER. 

No,  't  is  slander, 
Whose  edge  is  sharper  than  the  sword,  whose  tongue 


Cymheline,  47 

Outvenoms  all  the  worms  of  Nile,  whose  breath 
Rides  on  the  posting  winds  and  doth  belie 
All  corners  of  the  world :  kings,  queens  and  states, 
Maids,  matrons,  nay,  the  secrets  of  the  grave 
This  viperous  slander  enters. 


A  wife's  innocency. 

False  to  his  bed !    What  is  it  to  be  false  ? 

To  lie  in  watch  there  and  to  think  on  him  ? 

To   weep  Hwixt    clock  and  clock?    if  sleep  charge 

nature. 
To  break  it  with  a  fearful  dream  of  him 
And  cry  myself  awake  ?  that  's  false  to  's  bed  ! 

WOMEN    IN   man's   APPAREL. 

You  must  forget  to  be  a  woman ;  change 
Command  into  obedience  :   fear  and  niceness  — 
The  handmaids  of  all  women,  or,  more  truly, 
Woman  its  pretty  self — into  a  waggish  courage; 
Ready  in  gibes,  quick-answer'd,  saucy  and 
As  quarrelous  as  the  weasel ;  nay,  you  must 
Forget  that  rarest  treasure  of  your  cheek, 
Exposing  it  —  but,  O,  the  harder  heart! 
Alack,  no  remedy  !  —  to  the  greedy  touch 
Of  common-kissing  Titan,  ^  and  forget 
Your  laboursome  and  dainty  trims,  wherein 
You  made  great  Juno  angry. 

1  The  sun. 


4^  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Scene.     Before  the  Cave  of  Belarius. 

Imogen.   I  see  a  man's  life  is  a  tedious  one : 
I  have  tired  myself,  and  for  two  nights  together 
Have  made  the  ground  my  bed.     I  should  be  sick, 
But  that  my  resolution  helps  me.     Milford, 
When  from  the  mountain-top  Pisanio  show'd  thee. 
Thou  wast  within  a  ken  :   O  Jove  !  I  think 
Foundations  fly  the  wretched ;  such,  I  mean. 
Where  they  should  be  relieved.     Two  beggars  told 

me 
I  could  not  miss  my  way :   will  poor  folks  lie, 
That  have  afflictions  on  them,  knowing  't  is 
A  punishment  or  trial  ?     Yes  ;  no  wonder, 
When  rich  ones  scarce  tell  true.     To  lapse  in  fulness 
Is  sorer  than  to  lie  for  need,  and  falsehood 
Is  worse  in  kings  than  beggars.     My  dear  lord  ! 
Thou  art  one  o'  the  false  ones.     Now  I  think  on  thee, 
My  hunger  's  gone ;  but  even  before,  I  was 
At  point  to  sink  for  food.     But  what  is  this? 
Here  is  a  path  to  't :  't  is  some  savage  hold  : 
I  were  best  not  call ;  I  dare  not  call :  yet  famine, 
Ere  clean  it  o'erthrow  nature,  makes  it  valiant. 
Plenty  and  peace  breeds  cowards :   hardness  ever 
Of  hardiness  is  mother. 

LABOUR. 

Weariness 
Can  snore  upon  the  flint,  when  restive  sloth 
Finds  the  down  pillow  hard. 


Cymbeline,  49 

HARMLESS    INNOCENCE. 

Imogen.     Good  masters,  harm  me  not : 
Before  I  enter'd  here,  I  called ;  and  thought 
To  have  begg'd  or  bought  what  I  have  took :  good 

troth, 
I  have  stol'n  nought,  nor  would  not,  though  I  had 

found 
Gold   strew'd   T  the  floor.    Here  's    money  for    my 

meat : 
I  would  have  left  it  on  the  board  so  soon 
As  I  had  made  my  meal,  and  parted 
With  prayers  for  the  provider. 

Guiderius.  Money,  youth? 

Arviragiis.     All  gold  and  silver  rather  turn  to  dirt  { 
As  't  is  no  better  reckoned,  but  of  those 
Who  worship  dirty  gods. 

ACT    IV. 

BRAGGART. 

To  who  ?  to  thee  ?     What  art  thou  ?     Have  not  I 
An  arm  as  big  as  thine  ?  a  heart  as  big  ? 
Thy  words,  I  grant,  are  bigger,  for  I  wear  not 
My  dagger  in  my  mouth. 

FOOL-HARDINESS. 

Being  scarce  made  up, 
I  mean,  to  man,  he  had  not  apprehension 


50  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Of  roaring  terrors  ;  for  the  effect  of  judgment 
Is  oft  the  cause  of  fear. 


INBORN   ROYALTY. 

O  thou  goddess. 
Thou  divine  Nature,  how  thyself  thou  blazon'st 
In  these  two  princely  boys !     They  are  as  gentle 
As  zephyrs  blowing  below  the  violet, 
Not  wagging  his  sweet  head ;  and  yet  as  rough. 
Their  royal  blood  enchafed,  as  the  rudest  wind, 
That  by  the  top  doth  take  the  mountain  pine. 
And  make  him  stoop  to  the  vale.     'T  is  wonder 
That  an  invisible  instinct  should  frame  them 
To  royalty  unlearned,  honour  untaught, 
Civility  not  seen  from  other,  valour 
That  wildly  grows  in  them,  but  yields  a  crop 
As  if  it  had  been  sow'd. 

IMOGEN    SUPPOSED    DEAD. 

Belarius.  Look,  here  he  comes, 

And  brings  the  dire  occasion  in  his  arms 
Of  what  we  blame  him  for  ! 

Enter  Arviragus,  with  Imogen,  as  dead,  bearing  het 
in  his  arms. 
Arviragus.  The  bird  is  dead 

That  we  have  made  so  much  on.     I  had  rather 
Have  skipped  from  sixteen  years  of  age  to  sixty, 
To  have  turn'd  my  leaping-time  into  a  crutch, 
Than  have  seen  this. 


Cymbeline,  51 

Guiderius.  O  sweetest,  fairest  lily  ! 

My  brother  wears  thee  not  the  one  half  so  well 
As  when  thou  grew'st  thyself. 

Bel.  O  melancholy ! 

Who  ever  yet  could  sound  thy  bottom  ?  find 
The  ooze,  to  show  what  coast  thy  sluggish  crare  ' 
Might  easiHest  harbour  in  ?     Thou  blessed  thing  ! 
Jove  knows  what  man  thou  mightst  have  made  ;  but  I, 
Thou  diedst,  a  most  rare  boy,  of  melancholy. 
How  found  you  him? 

Arv.  Stark, ^  as  you  see  : 

Thus  smiling,  as  some  fly  had  tickled  slumber, 
Not  as  death's    dart,    being   laughed   at :    his    right 

cheek 
Reposing  on  a  cushion. 

Gtii.  Where? 

Arv.  O'  the  floor ; 

His  arms  thus  leagued :  I  thought  he  slept,  and  put 
My  clouted  brogues^  from  off  my  feet,  whose  rude- 
ness 
Answer'd  my  steps  too  loud. 

Qui.  Why,  he  but  sleeps  : 

If  he  be  gone,  he  Ul  make  his  grave  a  bed ; 
With  female  fairies  will  his  tomb  be  haunted, 
And  worms  will  not  come  to  thee. 

Arv.  With  fairest  flowers 

Whilst  summer  lasts  and  I  live  here,  Fidele, 
I  '11  sweeten  thy  sad  grave :  thou  shalt  not  lack 
The  flower  that 's  like  thy  face,  pale  primrose,  nor 

1 A  slow-sailing,  unwieldy  vessel. 

«  Stiff.  8  Shoes  plated  with  iron. 


52  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

The  azured  harebell,  nke  thy  veins,  no,  nor 
The  leaf  of  eglantine,  whom  not  to  slander, 
Out-sweeten'd  not  thy  breath  :  the  ruddock  i  would , 
With  charitable  bill,  — O  bill,  sore-shaming 
Those  rich-left  heirs  that  let  their  fathers  lie 
Without  a  monument !  —  bring  thee  all  this  ; 
Yea,  and  furr'd  moss  besides,  when  flowers  are  none, 
To  winter-ground  ^  thy  corse. 

Bel.     Great  griefs,  I   see,  medicine  the  less ;  for 
Cloten 
Is  quite  forgot.     He  was  a  queen's  son,  boys ; 
And  though  he  came  our  enemy,  remember 
He  was  paid  ^  for  that :   though  mean  and  mighty, 

rotting 
Together,  have  one  dust,  yet  reverence, 
That  angel  of  the  world,  doth  make  distinction 
Of  place  'tween  high  and  low.    Our  foe  was  princely; 
And  though  you  took  his  life,  as  being  our  foe 
Yet  bury  him  as  a  prince. 

Guz.  Pray  you,  fetch  him  hither. 

Thersites'  body  is  as  good  as  Ajax', 
When  neither  are  alive. 

FUNERAL   DIRGE. 

Guiderius.     Fear  no  more  the  heat  o'  the  sun, 
Nor  the  furious  winter's  rages  ; 
Thou  thy  worldly  task  hast  done. 

Home  art  gone,  and  ta'en  thy  wages : 

iThe  red-breast. 

•Probably  a  corrupt  reading  for  vjither  round  thy  corse. 

>  Punished. 


Cymbeline,  53 

Golden  lads  and  girls  all  must, 

As  chimney-sweepers,  come  to  dust. 

Arviragus.     Fear  no  more  the  frown  o'  the  great ; 

Thou  art  past  the  tyrant's  stroke ; 
Care  no  more  to  clothe  and  eat ; 

To  thee  the  reed  is  as  the  oak : 
The  sceptre,  learning,  physic,  must 
All  follow  this,  and  come  to  dust.    . 

Gui.     Fear  no  more  the  lightning-flash, 
Arv.         Nor  the  all-dreaded  thunder-stone  ; 
Gui.     Fear  not  slander,  censure  *  rash  ; 
Arv.         Thou  hast  finish'd  joy  and  moan  : 
Both.     All  lovers  young,  all  lovers  must 

Consign  ^  to  thee,  and  come  to  dust. 

Gui.     No  exorciser  harm  thee  ! 
Arv.    Nor  no  witchcraft  charm  thee ! 
Gui.     Ghost  unlaid  forbear  thee  ! 
Arv.    Nothing  ill  come  near  thee  ! 
Both.    Quiet  consummation  have  ; 
And  renowned  be  thy  grave ! 

IMOGEN,    AWAKING. 

Yes,  sir,  to  Milford-Haven ;  which  is  the  way?  — 
I    thank   you.  —  By   yond   bush  ?  —  Pray,   how   far 

thither? 
'Ods  pittikins  !  ^  can  it  be  six  mile  yet  ?  — 

1  T"dg-ment.  2  Seal  the  same  contract, 

3  This  diminutive  adjuration  is  derived  from  God  's  my  piiy. 


54  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

I  have  gone  all  night.     'Faith,  I  Ul  lie  down  and  sleep. 
But,  soft !  no  bedfellow  !  —  O  gods  and  goddesses  ! 

\Seeing  the  body  of  Cloten. 
These  flowers  are  like  the  pleasures  of  the  world ; 
This  bloody  man,  the  care  on 't.     I  hope  I  dream  ; 
For  so  I  thought  I  was  a  cave-keeper, 
And  cook  to  honest  creatures :  but  't  is  not  so  ; 
'T  was  but  a  bolt  ^  of  nothing,  shot  at  nothing. 
Which  the  brain  makes  of  fumes  :  our  very  eyes 
Are  sometimes  like  our  judgments,  blind.    Good  faith, 
I  tremble  still  with  fear :  but  if  there  be 
Yet  left  in  heaven  as  small  a  drop  of  pity 
As  a  wren's  eye,  fear'd  gods,  a  part  of  it ! 
The  dream  's  here  still :  even  when  I  wake,  it  is 
Without  me,  as  within  me ;  not  imagined,  felt. 


ACT   V. 

A   ROUTED   ARMY. 

No  blame  be  to  you,  sir ;  for  all  was  lost, 
But  that  the  heavens  fought :  the  king  himself 
Of  his  wings  destitute,  the  army  broken. 
And  but  the  backs  of  Britons  seen,  all  flying 
Through  a  strait  lane  ;  the  enemy  full-hearted, 
Lolling  the  tongue  with  slaughtering,  having  work 
More  plentiful  than  tools  to  do 't,  struck  down 
Some  mortally,  some  slightly  touched,  some  falling 

'An  arrow. 


Cymheline.  55 

Merely  through  fear ;  that  the  strait  pass  was  damm'd  ^ 
With  dead  men  hurt  behind,  and  cowards  living 
To  die  with  lengthen'd  shame. 


DEATH. 

I,  in  mine  own  woe  charm'd, 
Could  not  find  death  where  I  did  hear  him  groan, 
Nor  feel  him  where  he  struck  :  being  an  ugly  monster, 
'T  is  strange  he  hides  him  in  fresh  cups,  soft  beds, 
Sweet  words ;  or  hath  more  ministers  than  we 
That  draw  his  knives  i'  the  war. 

1  Blocked  up. 


HAMLET. 
ACT   I. 

PRODIGIES. 

In  the  most  high  and  palmy  '  state  of  Rome, 
A  little  ere  the  mightiest  Julius  fell, 
The  graves  stood  tenantless  and  the  sheeted  dead 
Did  squeak  and  gibber  in  the  Roman  streets : 
As  stars  with  trains  of  fire  and  dews  of  blood, 
Disasters  in  the  sun ;  and  the  moist  star  ^ 
Upon  whose  influence  Neptune's  empire  stands 
Was  sick  almost  to  doomsday  with  eclipse. 

GHOSTS  VANISH  AT  THE  CROWING  OF  A  COCK. 

Bernardo.     It  was  about  to  speak,  when  the  cock 
crew. 

Horatio.     And  then  it  started  like  a  guilty  thing 
Upon  a  fearful  summons.     I  have  heard. 
The  cock,  that  is  the  trumpet  to  the  morn, 
Doth  with  his  lofty  and  shrill-sounding  throat 
Awake  the  god  of  day ;  and,  at  his  warning, 
Whether  in  sea  or  fire,  in  earth  or  air, 
The  extravagant  and  erring^  spirit  hies 

1  Victorious.  2  The  moon.  8  Wandering. 


Hamlet,  57 

To  his  confine  :  and  of  the  truth  herein 
This  present  object  made  probation.^ 

THE   REVERENCE   PAID    TO    CHRISTMAS    TIME. 

It  faded  on  the  crowing  of  the  cock. 
Some  say  that  ever  'gainst  that  season  comes 
Wherein  our  Saviour's  birth  is  celebrated, 
The  bird  of  dawning  singeth  all  night  long : 
And  then,  they  say,  no  spirit  dares  stir  abroad ; 
The  nights  are  wholesome ;  then  no  planets  strike, 
No  fairy  takes,  nor  witch  hath  power  to  charm, 
So  hallo w'd  and  so  gracious  is  the  time. 

MORNING. 

But,  look,  the  morn,  in  russet  mantle  clad. 
Walks  o'er  the  dew  of  yon  high  eastward  hill. 


REAL   GRIEF. 

Seems,  madam !  nay,  it  is ;  I  know  not  '  seems.' 
'T  is  not  alone  my  inky  cloak,  good  mother, 
Nor  customary  suits  of  solemn  black, 
Nor  windy  suspiration  of  forced  breath, 
No,  nor  the  fruitful  river  in  the  eye, 
Nor  the  dejected  'haviour  of  the  visage, 
Together  with  all  forms,  moods,  shapes  of  grief, 
That  can  denote  me  truly :  these  indeed  seem, 
For  they  are  actions  that  a  man  might  play : 

1  Proof. 


58  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

But  I  have  that  within  which  passeth  show ; 
These  but  the  trappings  and  the  suits  of  woe. 


IMMODERATE    GRIEF    DISCOMMENDED. 

'T  is  sweet  and  commendable  in  your  nature,  Hamlet, 

To  give  these  mourning  duties  to  your  father : 

But,  you  must  know,  your  father  lost  a  father; 

That  father  lost,  lost  his,  and  the  survivor  bound 

In  filial  obligation  for  some  term 

To  do  obsequious  sorrow :  but  to  persever 

In  obstinate  condolement  is  a  course 

Of  impious  stubbornness  ;  't  is  unmanly  grief; 

It  shows  a  will  most  incorrect  to  heaven, 

A  heart  unfortified,  a  mind  impatient. 

An  understanding  simple  and  unschooled : 

For  what  we  know  must  be  and  is  as  common 

As  any  the  most  vulgar  thing  to  sense. 

Why  should  we  in  our  peevish  opposition 

Take  it  to  heart  ?     Fie  !  't  is  a  fault  to  heaven, 

A  fault  against  the  dead,  a  fault  to  nature, 

To  reason  most  absurd  ;  whose  common  theme 

Is  death  of  fathers,  and  who  still  hath  cried. 

From  the  first  corse  till  he  that  died  to-day, 

*  This  must  be  so.' 

hamlet's  soliloquy   on   his   mother's    MARRIAGE 

O,  that  this  too  too  solid  flesh  would  melt, 
Thaw  and  resolve  '  itself  into  a  dew  ! 

1  Dissolve. 


Hamlet,  59 

Or  that  the  Everlasting  had  not  fix'd 

His  canon  i  'gainst  self-slaughter  !     O  God  !  God  ! 

How  weary,  stale,  flat  and  unprofitable, 

Seem  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this  world  ! 

Fie  on  \ !  ah  fie !  't  is  an  unweeded  garden, 

That  grows  to  seed ;  things  rank  and  gross  in  nature 

Possess  it  merely.'^     That  it  should  come  to  this ! 

But  two  months  dead  :  nay,  not  so  much,  not  two : 

So  excellent  a  king ;  that  was,  to  this, 

Hyperion  ^  to  a  satyr ;  so  loving  to  my  mother 

That  he  might  not  beteem  ^  the  winds  of  heaven 

Visit  her  face  too  roughly.     Heaven  and  earth  ! 

Must  I  remember?  why,  she  would  hang  on  him. 

As  if  increase  of  appetite  had  grown 

By  what  it  fed  on :  and  yet,  within  a  month  — 

Let  me  not  think  on  't  —  Frailty,  thy  name  is  woman  ! 

A  little  month,  or  ere  those  shoes  were  old 

With  which  she  follow'd  my  poor  father's  body, 

Like  Niobe,  all  tears  :  —  why  she,  even  she  — 

O  God  !  a  beast,  that  wants  discourse  of  reason. 

Would    have    mourn'd    longer  —  married   with    my 

uncle, 
My  father's  brother,  but  no  more  like  my  father 
Than  I  to  Hercules  :  within  a  month  : 
Ere  yet  the  salt  of  most  unrighteous  tears 
Had  left  the  flushing  in  her  galled  eyes. 
She  married.     O,  most  wicked  speed,  to  post 
With  such  dexterity  to  incestuous  sheets  ! 
It  is  not  nor  it  cannot  come  to  good. 

1  Law.  2  Entirely. 

»  Apollo.  *  Suffer. 


6o  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

THE  EXTENT  OF  HUMAN  PERFECTION. 

He  was  a  man,  take  him  for  all  in  all, 
I  shall  not  look  upon  his  like  again. 

CAUTIONS  TO  YOUNG  FEMALES. 

For  Hamlet  and  the  trifling  of  his  favour, 
Hold  it  a  fashion  and  a  toy  in  blood, 
A  violet  in  the  youth  of  primy  nature, 
Forward,  not  permanent,  sweet,  not  lasting. 
The  perfume  and  suppliance  of  a  minute ; 
No  more. 

Then  weigh  what  loss  your  honour  may  sustain, 
If  with  too  credent  *  ear  you  list  ^  his  songs. 
Or  lose  your  heart,  or  your  chaste  treasure  open 
To  his  unmaster'd  ^  importunity. 
Fear  it,  Ophelia,  fear  it,  my  dear  sister, 
And  keep  you  in  the  rear  of  your  affection, 
Out  of  the  shot  and  danger  of  desire. 
The  chariest  *  maid  is  prodigal  enough. 
If  she  unmask  her  beauty  to  the  moon : 
Virtue  itself  'scapes  not  calumnious  strokes : 
The  canker  galls  the  infants  of  the  spring. 
Too  oft  before  their  buttons  be  disclosed. 
And  in  the  morn  and  liquid  dew  of  youth 
Contagious  blastments  are  most  imminent. 

*  Believing.  «  Listen  to. 

»  Licentious.  <  Most  cautious. 


Hamlet,  6i 


SATIRE    ON    UNGRACIOUS    PASTORS. 

I  shall  the  effect  of  this  good  lesson  keep, 

As  watchman  to  my  heart.     But,  good  my  brother, 

Do  not,  as  some  ungracious  pastors  do, 

Show  me  the  steep  and  thorny  way  to  heaven ; 

Whiles,  like  a  puff'd  and  reckless  *  libertine,     , 

Himself  the  primrose  path  of  dalliance  treads, 

And  recks  not  his  own  rede.* 


ADVICE    TO    A    SON    GOING    TO    TRAVEL. 

Give  thy  thoughts  no  tongue. 
Nor  any  unproportionM  thought  his  act. 
Be  thou  familiar,  but  by  no  means  vulgar. 
Those  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried. 
Grapple  them  to  thy  soul  with  hoops  of  steel ; 
But  do  not  dull  thy  palm  ^  with  entertainment 
Of  each  new-hatch'd,  unfledged  comrade.     Beware 
Of  entrance  to  a  quarrel,  but  being  in, 
Bear  't  that  the  opposed  may  beware  of  thee. 
Give  every  man  thy  ear,  but  few  thy  voice ; 
Take  each  man's  censure,"*  but  reserve  thy  judgment. 
Costly  thy  habit  as  thy  purse  can  buy, 
But  not  express'd  in  fancy ;  rich,  not  gaudy  ; 
For  the  apparel  oft  proclaims  the  man. 
And  they  in  France  of  the  best  rank  and  station 
Are  of  a  most  select  and  generous^  chiefs  in  that. 

'  Careless.  2  Regards  not  his  own  lesson. 

s.Palm  of  the  hand.  *  Opinion. 

6  Noble.  «  Chiefly. 


62  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Neither  a  borrower  nor  a  lender  be  ; 
For  loan  oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend, 
And  borrowing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry.^ 
This  above  all :   to  thine  own  self  be  true, 
And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day. 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man. 


HAMLET  ON  THE    APPEARANCE  OF  HIS   FATHER'S 
GHOST. 

Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us ! 

Be  thou  a  spirit  of  health  or  goblin  damn'd. 

Bring  with  thee  airs  from  heaven  or  blasts  from  hell, 

Be  thy  intents  wicked  or  charitable, 

Thou  comest  in  such  a  questionable  ^  shape 

That  I  will  speak  to  thee :   I  '11  call  thee  Hamlet, 

King,  father,  royal  Dane  :  O,  answer  me  ! 

Let  me  not  burst  in  ignorance ;  but  tell 

Why  thy  canonized  bones,  hearsed  in  death. 

Have  burst  their  cerements ;  why  the  sepulchre. 

Wherein  we  saw  thee  quietly  inurn'd. 

Hath  oped  his  ponderous  and  marble  jaws. 

To  cast  thee  up  again.     What  may  this  mean. 

That  thou,  dead  corse,  again  in  complete  steel 

Revisifst  thus  the  glimpses  of  the  moon. 

Making  night  hideous ;  and  we  fools  of  nature 

So  horridly  to  shake  our  disposition  3 

With  thoughts  beyond  the  reaches  of  our  souls? 

1  Economy.  sConversible.  3  Frame. 


Hamlet.  63 


THE  MISCHIEFS   THE    SPIRIT    MIGHT    TEMPT    HIM    TO. 

What  if  it  tempt  you  toward  the  flood,  my  lord, 
Or  to  the  dreadful  summit  of  the  cliff 
That  beetles  ^  o'er  his  base  into  the  sea, 
And  there  assume  some  other  horrible  form, 
Which  might  deprive  your  sovereignty  of  reason 
And  draw  you  into  madness  ?  think  of  it : 
The  very  place  puts  toys  ^  of  desperation, 
Without  more  motive,  into  every  brain 
That  looks  so  many  fathoms  to  the  sea 
And  hears  it  roar  beneath. 

THE   GHOST'S    TALE. 

Hamlet.     Where  wilt  thou  lead  me  ?    speak ;   I  '11 
go  no  further. 

Ghost.     Mark  me. 

Ham.  I  will. 

Ghost.  My  hour  is  almost  come, 

When  I  to  sulphurous  and  tormenting  flames 
Must  render  up  myself. 

Ham.  Alas,  poor  ghost ! 

Ghost.     Pity  me  not,  but  lend  thy  serious  hearing 
To  what  I  shall  unfold. 

Ham.  Speak  ;   I  am  bound  to  hear. 

Ghost.     So  art  thou  to  revenge,  when  thou  shalt 
hear. 

Ham.     What? 

Ghost.     I  am  thy  father's  spirit, 

1  Hangs.  2  Whims. 


64  Beauties  of  Shahspeare, 

DoomM  for  a  certain  term  to  walk  the  night, 

And  for  the  day  confined  to  fast  in  fires, 

Till  the  foul  crimes  done  in  my  days  of  nature 

Are  burnt  and  purged  away.     But  that  I  am  forbid 

To  tell  the  secrets  of  my  prison-house, 

I  could  a  tale  unfold  whose  lightest  word 

Would  harrow  up  thy  soul,  freeze  thy  young  blood. 

Make  thy  two  eyes,  like  stars,  start  from  their  spheres, 

Thy  knotted  and  combined  locks  to  part, 

And  each  particular  hair  to  stand  on  end, 

Like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porpentine : 

But  this  eternal  blazon  ^  must  not  be 

To  ears  of  flesh  and  blood.     List,  list,  O,  list ! 

If  thou  didst  ever  thy  dear  father  love  — 

Ham.     O  God ! 

Ghost.     Revenge    his   foul    and    most   unnatural 
murder. 

Ham.     Murder ! 

Ghost.     Murder  most  foul,  as  in  the  best  it  is ; 
But  this  most  foul,  strange  and  unnatural. 

Ham.     Haste  me  to  know  't,  that  I,  with  wings  as 
swift 
As  meditation  or  the  thoughts  of  love, 
May  sweep  to  my  revenge. 

Ghost.  I  find  thee  apt ; 

And  duller  shouldst  thou  be  than  the  fat  weed 
That  roots  itself  in  ease  on  Lethe  wharf, 
Wouldst  thou  not  stir  in  this.     Now,  Hamlet,  hear : 
'T  is  given  out  that,  sleeping  in  my  orchard, '^ 
A  serpent  stung  me  ;  so  the  whole  ear  of  Denmark 

1  Display.  »  Garden. 


Hamlet,  65 

Is  by  a  forged  process  of  my  death 
Rankly  abused:  but  know,  thou  noble  youth, 
The  serpent  that  did  sting  thy  father's  life 
Now  wears  his  crown. 

Ham.     O  my  prophetic  soul !  my  uncle  ! 

Ghost.     Ay,  that  incestuous,  that  adulterate  beast, 
With  witchcraft  of  his  wit,  with  traitorous  gifts,  — 
O  wicked  wit  and  gifts,  that  have  the  power 
So  to  seduce  !  —  won  to  his  shameful  lust 
The  will  of  my  most  seeming-virtuous  queen  : 

0  Hamlet,  what  a  falling-off  was  there  ! 
From  me,  whose  love  was  of  that  dignity 
That  it  went  hand  in  hand  even  with  the  vow 

1  made  to  her  in  marriage,  and  to  decline 
Upon  a  wretch  whose  natural  gifts  were  poor 
To  those  of  mine  ! 

But  virtue,  as  it  never  will  be  moved. 
Though  lewdness  court  it  in  a  shape  of  heaven. 
So  lust,  though  to  a  radiant  angel  link'd. 
Will  sate  ^  itself  in  a  celestial  bed. 
And  prey  on  garbage. 

But,  soft !  methinks  I  scent  the  morning  air ; 
Brief  let  me  be.     Sleeping  within  my  orchard, 
My  custom  always  of  the  afternoon. 
Upon  my  secure  hour  thy  uncle  stole. 
With  juice  of  cursed  hebenon  '^  in  a  vial, 
And  in  the  porches  of  my  ears  did  pour 
The  leperous  distilment ;  whose  effect 
Holds  such  an  enmity  with  blood  of  man 
That  swift  as  quicksilver  it  courses  through 

1  Satiate,  «  Henbane. 


66  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

The  natural  gates  and  alleys  of  the  body, 
And  with  a  sudden  vigour  it  doth  posset 
And  curd,  like  eager  droppings  into  milk, 
The  thin  and  wholesome  blood  :  so  did  it  mine ; 
And  a  most  instant  tetter  ^  bark'd  about, 
Most  lazar-like,*^  with  vile  and  loathsome  crust, 
All  my  smooth  body. 

Thus  was  I,  sleeping,  by  a  brother's  hand 
Of  life,  of  crown,  of  queen,  at  once  dispatched : '' 
Cut  off  even  in  the  blossoms  of  my  sin, 
Unhousel'd,'*  disappointed,^  unaneled,*^ 
No  reckoning  made,  but  sent  to  my  account 
With  all  my  imperfections  on  my  head : 
O,  horrible  !  O,  horrible  !  most  horrible  ! 
If  thou  hast  nature  in  thee,  bear  it  not ; 
Let  not  the  royal  bed  of  Denmark  be 
A  couch  for  luxury  and  damned  incest. 
But,  howsoever  thou  pursuest  this  act, 
Taint  not  thy  mind,  nor  let  thy  soul  contrive 
Against  thy  mother  aught :  leave  her  to  heaven 
And  to  those  thorns  that  in  her  bosom  lodge. 
To  prick  and  sting  her.     Fare  thee  well  at  once  ! 
The  glow-worm  shows  the  matin  to  be  near. 
And  'gins  to  pale  his  uneffectual  fire: 
Adieu,  adieu  !     Hamlet,  remember  me.  \_Exif. 

Ham.     O  all  you  host  of  heaven  !  O  earth  !  Wlia! 
else? 

1  Scab,  scurf,  2  Leprous.  »  Bereft. 

*  Without  having  received  the  Sacrament. 

*  Unappointed,  unprepared. 
•Without  extreme  unction. 


Hamlet,  67 

And  shall  I  couple  hell?     O,  fie !    Hold,   hold,  my 

heart ; 
And  you,  my  sinews,  grow  not  instant  old, 
But  bear  me  stiffly  up.     Remember  thee  ! 
Ay,  thou  poor  ghost,  while  memory  holds  a  seat 
In  this  distracted  globe. ^     Remember  thee  ! 
Yea,  from  the  table  of  my  memory 
I  Ul  wipe  away  all  trivial  fond  records, 
All  saws  2  of  books,  all  forms,  all  pressures  past, 
That  youth  and  observation  copied  there  ; 
And  thy  commandment  all  alone  shall  live 
Within  the  book  and  volume  of  my  brain, 
UnmixM  with  baser  matter :  yes,  by  heaven  ! 
O  most  pernicious  woman  ! 
O  villain,  villain,  smiling,  damned  villain ! 
My  tables,' —  meet  it  is  I  set  it  down, 
That  one  may  smile,  and  smile,  and  be  a  villain ; 
At  least  I  'm  sure  it  may  be  so  in  Denmark  : 

[  Writing. 
So,  uncle,  there  you  are.     Now  to  my  word; 
It  is  '  Adieu,  adieu  !  remember  me.' 


ACT   II. 

OPHELIA'S  DESCRIPTION  OF  HAMLET'S  MAD   ADDRESS 
TO    HER 

My  lord,  as  I  was  sewing  in  my  closet, 
Lord  Hamlet,  with  his  doublet  all  unbraced ; 
No  hat  upon  his  head  ;   his  stockings  foul'd, 

iHead.  2  Sayings.  » Memorandum-book. 


68  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Ungarter'd,  and  down-gyved  ^  to  his  ankle  ; 

Pale  as  his  shirt ;   his  knees  knocking  each  other ; 

And  with  a  look  so  piteous  in  purport 

As  if  he  had  been  loosed  out  of  hell 

To  speak  of  horrors,  —  he  comes  before  me. 

Polonius.     Mad  for  thy  love  ? 

Ophelia.  My  lord,  I  do  not  know ; 

But  truly,  I  do  fear  it. 

Pol.  What  said  he  ? 

Oph.     He  took  me  by  the  wrist  and  held  me  hard ; 
Then  goes  he  to  the  length  of  all  his  arm ; 
And,  with  his  other  hand  thus  o'er  his  brow, 
He  falls  to  such  perusal  of  my  face 
As  he  would  draw  it.     Long  stayed  he  so ; 
At  last,  a  little  shaking  of  mine  arm 
And  thrice  his  head  thus  waving  up  and  down, 
He  raised  a  sigh  so  piteous  and  profound 
As  it  did  seem  to  shatter  all  his  bulk  ^ 
And  end  his  being :  that  done,  he  lets  me  go : 
And,  with  his  head  over  his  shoulder  turn'd. 
He  seem'd  to  find  his  way  without  his  eyes ; 
For  out  o'  doors  he  went  without  their  helps, 
And,  to  the  last,  bended  their  light  on  me. 

OLD   AGE. 

Beshrew  my  jealousy ! 
By  heaven,  it  is  as  proper  to  our  age 
To  cast  beyond  ourselves  in  our  opinions 
As  it  is  common  for  the  younger  sort 
To  lack  discretion. 

^Hanging  down  like  fetters.  '  Body. 


Hamlet,  69 


HAPPINESS   CONSISTS   IN   OPINION. 

Why,  then,  't  is  none  to  you ;  for  there  is  nothing 
either  good  or  bad,  but  thinking  makes  it  so :  to  me 
it  is  a  prison. 

REFLECTIONS   ON   MAN. 

I  have  of  late  —  but  wherefore  I  know  not  —  lost 
all  my  mirth,  forgone  all  custom  of  exercises ;  and 
indeed  it  goes  so  heavily  with  my  disposition  that 
this  goodly  frame,  the  earth,  seems  to  me  a  sterile 
promontory,  this  most  excellent  canopy,  the  air,  look 
you,  this  brave  o'erhanging  firmament,  this  majestical 
roof  fretted  with  golden  fire,  why,  it  appears  no  other 
thing  to  me  than  a  foul  and  pestilent  congregation  of 
vapours.  What  a  piece  of  work  is  a  man  !  How 
noble  in  reason  !  how  infinite  in  faculty  I  in  form  and 
moving  how  express  and  admirable !  in  action  how 
like  an  angel !  in  apprehension  how  like  a  god  !  the 
beauty  of  the  world  !  the  paragon  of  animals  !  And 
yet,  to  me,  what  is  this  quintessence  of  dust?  Man 
delights  not  me :  no,  nor  woman  neither,  thougli  by 
your  smiling  you  seem  to  say  so. 

hamlet's  reflections  on  the  player  and 

HIMSELF. 

O,  what  a  rogue  and  peasant  slave  am  I ! 
Is  it  not  monstrous  that  this  player  here, 
But  in  a  fiction,  in  a  dream  of  passion,  . 
Could  force  his  soul  so  to  his  own  conceit 


70  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

That  from  her  working  all  his  visage  wann'd, 

Tears  in  his  eyes,  distraction  in  's  aspect, 

A  broken  voice,  and  his  whole  function  suiting 

With  forms  to  his  conceit  ?  and  all  for  nothing  ! 

For  Hecuba  ! 

What 's  Hecuba  to  him,  or  he  to  Hecuba, 

That  he  should  weep  for  her?     What  would  he  do, 

Had  he  the  motive  and  the  cue  for  passion 

That  I  have?     He  would  drown  the  stage  with  tears 

And  cleave  the  general  ear  with  horrid  speech, 

Make  mad  the  guilty  and  appal  the  free. 

Confound  the  ignorant,  and  amaze  indeed 

The  very  faculties  of  eyes  and  ears. 

Yet  I, 

A  dull  and  muddy-mettled  rascal,  peak, 

Like  John-a-dreams,  unpregnant  of  my  cause, 

And  can  say  nothing ;   no,  not  for  a  king. 

Upon  whose  property  and  most  dear  life 

A  damn'd  defeat  ^  was  made.     Am  I  a  coward? 

Who  calls  me  villain?  breaks  my  pate  across? 

Plucks  off  my  beard,  and  blows  it  in  my  face  ? 

Tweaks  me  by  the  nose?    gives  me    the  lie  i'  the 

throat, 
As  deep  as  to  the  lungs?     Who  does  me  this? 
Ha! 

'S  wounds,  I  should  take  it :  for  it  cannot  be 
But  I  am  pigeon-liver'd  and  lack  gall 
To  make  oppression  bitter,  or  ere  this 
I  should  have  fatted  all  the  region  kites 
With  this  slave's  oflfal :  bloody,  bawdy  villain  ! 

1  Destruction. 


Hamlet.  7  ^ 

Remorseless,    treacherous,   lecherous,   kindless  ^  vil- 
lain! 
O,  vengeance  ! 

Why,  what  an  ass  am  I  !     This  is  most  brave, 
That  I,  the  son  of  a  dear  father  murder'd. 
Prompted  to  my  revenge  by  heaven  and  hell, 
Must,  like  a  whore,  unpack  my  heart  with  words, 
And  fall  a-cursing,  like  a  very  drab, 
A  scullion. 

Fie  upon 't !  foh  !     About,  my  brain  !  I  have  heard 
That  guilty  creatures  sitting  at  a  play 
Have  by  the  very  cunning  of  the  scene 
Been  struck  so  to  the  soul  that  presently 
They  have  proclaimed  their  malefactions  ; 
For  murder,  though  it  have  no  tongue,  will  speak 
With  most  miraculous  organ.  I  '11  have  these  players 
Play  something  like  the  murder  of  my  father 
Before  mine  uncle  :   I  Ul  observe  his  looks  ; 
I  '11  tent  him  to  the  quick :  ^  if  he  but  blench,^ 
I  know  my  course.     The  spirit  that  I  have  seen 
May  be  the  devil :  and  the  devil  hath  power 
To  assume  a  pleasing  shape  ;  yea,  and  perhaps 
Out  of  my  weakness  and  my  melancholy. 
As  he  is  very  potent  with  such  spirits, 
Abuses  me  to  damn  me  :   I  '11  have  grounds 
More  relative  than  this  :   the  play  's  the  thing 
Wherein  I  '11  catch  the  conscience  of  the  king. 

1  Unnatural.        2  Search  his  wounds.        s  Shrink,  or  start. 


72  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 


ACT  III. 

HYPOCRISY. 

We  are  oft  to  blame  in  this, — 
'T  is  too  much  proved  ^  —  that  with  devotion's  visage 
And  pious  action  we  do  sugar  o'er 
The  devil  himself. 

King.      [Aside.']     O,  't  is  too  true  !  how  smart 
A  lash  that  speech  doth  give  my  conscience  ! 
The  harlot's  cheek,  beautied  with  plastering  art, 
Is  not  more  ugly  to  the  thing  that  helps  it 
Than  is  my  deed  to  my  most  painted  word. 

SOLILOQUY   ON   LIFE   AND   DEATH. 

To  be,  or  not  to  be  :  that  is  the  question : 

Whether  't  is  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer 

The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune, 

Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles, 

And  by  opposing  end  them  ?     To  die  :  to  sleep  ; 

No  more ;  and  by  a  sleep  to  say  we  end 

The  heart-ache  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 

That  flesh  is  heir  to,  't  is  a  consummation 

Devoutly  to  be  wish'd.     To  die,  to  sleep; 

To  sleep  :  perchance  to  dream  :  ay,  there  's  the  rub  ; 

For  in  that  sleep  of  death  what  dreams  may  come 

When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil,*^ 

''lust  give  us  pause  :  there  's  the  respect  ^ 

That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  life ; 

1  Too  frequent.  *  Stir,  bustle.  »  Consideration. 


Hamlet,  73 

For  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time, 

The  oppressors  wrong,  the  proud  man's  contumely,^ 

The  pangs  of  despised  love,  the  law's  delay, 

The  insolence  of  office  and  the  spurns 

That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes, 

When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  ^  make 

With  a  bare  bodkin  ?  ^  who  would  fardels  "*  bear, 

To  grunt  and  sweat  under  a  weary  life, 

But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death, 

The  undiscovered  country  from  whose  bourn  ^ 

No  traveller  returns,  puzzles  the  will 

And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have 

Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of  ? 

Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all ; 

And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 

Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought, 

And  enterprises  of  great  pitch  and  moment 

With  this  regard  their  currents  turn  awry, 

And  lose  the  name  of  action. 

CALUMNY. 

Be  thou  as  chaste  as  ice,  as  pure  as  snow,  thou 
shalt  not  escape  calumny. 

A    DISORDERED    MIND. 

O,  what  a  noble  mind  is  here  overthrown ! 
The    courtier's,    soldier's,     scholar's,     eye,     tongue, 
sword ; 

1  Rudeness.  2  Acquittance. 

8  The  ancient  term  for  a  small  dagger. 

*  Pack,  burden.  6  Boundary,  limits. 


74  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

The  expectancy  and  rose  of  the  fair  state, 
The  glass  of  fashion  and  the  mould  ^  of  form, 
The  observed  of  all  observers,  quite,  quite  down ! 
And  I,  of  ladies  most  deject  and  wretched. 
That  suck'd  the  honey  of  his  music  vows, 
Now  see  that  noble  and  most  sovereign  reason. 
Like  sweet  bells  jangled,  out  of  tune  and  harsh  ; 
That  unmatched  form  and  feature  of  blown  youth 
Blasted  with  ecstasy. ^ 

hamlet's  instructions  to  the  players. 

Speak  the  speech,  I  pray  you,  as  I  pronounced  it 
to  you,  trippingly  on  the  tongue  :  but  if  you  mouth 
it,  as  many  of  your  players  do,  I  had  as  lief  the 
town-crier  spoke  my  lines.  Nor  do  not  saw  the  air 
too  much  with  your  hand,  thus,  but  use  all  gently ; 
for  in  the  very  torrent,  tempest,  and,  as  I  may  say, 
the  whirlwind  of  passion,  you  must  acquire  and  beget 
a  temperance  that  may  give  it  smoothness.  O,  it 
offends  me  to  the  soul  to  hear  a  robustious  perivvig- 
pated  fellow  tear  a  passion  to  tatters,  to  very  rags, 
to  split  the  ears  of  the  groundlings,^  who  for  the 
most  part  are  capable  of  nothing  but  inexplicable 
dumb-shows  and  noise :  I  would  have  such  a  fellow 
whipped  for  o'erdoing  Termagant ;  it  out-herods 
Herod  :  *  pray  you,  avoid  it. 

ist  Player.    I  warrant  your  honour. 

iThe  model  by  whom  all  endeavoured  to  form  themselves. 
8  Alienation  of  mind. 

8  The  meaner  people  then  seem  to  have  sat  in  the  pit. 
*  Herod's  character  was  always  violent. 


Hamlet.  75 

Hamlet.  Be  not  too  tame  neither,  but  let  your 
own  discretion  be  your  tutor :  suit  the  action  to  the 
word,  the  word  to  the  action;  with  this  special 
observance,  that  you  o'erstep  not  the  modesty  of 
nature :  for  any  thing  so  overdone  is  from  the  pur- 
pose of  playing,  whose  end,  both  at  the  first  and 
now,  was  and  is,  to  hold,  as  't  were,  the  mirror  up  to 
nature ;  to  show  virtue  her  own  feature,  scorn  her 
own  image,  and  the  very  age  and  body  of  the  time 
his  form  and  pressure. i  Now  this  overdone,  or  come 
tardy  off,  though  it  make  the  unskilful  laugh,  cannot 
but  make  the  judicious  grieve ;  the  censure  of  the 
which  one  must  in  your  allowance  ^  o'erweigh  a 
whole  theatre  of  others.  O,  there  be  players  that  I 
have  seen  play,  and  heard  others  praise,  and  that 
highly,  not  to  speak  it  profanely,  that,  neither  having 
the  accent  of  Christians  nor  the  gait  of  Christian, 
pagan,  nor  man,  have  so  strutted  and  bellowed  that 
I  have  thought  some  of  nature's  journeymen  had 
made  men  and  not  made  them  well,  they  imitated 
humanity  so  abominably. 

1st  Play.  I  hope  we  have  reformed  that  indiffer- 
ently with   us,  sir. 

Ham.  O,  reform  it  altogether.  And  let  those  that 
play  your  clowns  speak  no  more  than  is  set  down  for 
them ;  for  there  be  of  them  that  will  themselves 
laugh,  to  set  on  some  quantity  of  barren  spectators 
to  laugh  too;  though,  in  the  mean  time,  some 
necessary  question  ^  of  the  play  be  then  to  be  con- 

1  Impression,  resemblance.  2  Approbation. 

8  Conversation,  discourse. 


76  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

sidered :  that  's  villanous,  and  shows  a  most  pitiful 
ambition  in  the  fool  that  uses  it. 


ON  FLATTERY  AND  AN  EVEN-MINDED  MAN. 

Nay,  do  not  think  I  flatter ; 
For  what  advancement  may  I  hope  from  thee 
That  no  revenue  hast  but  thy  good  spirits, 
To  feed  and  clothe  thee?     Why  should  the  poor  be 

flatter^? 
No,  let  the  candied  tongue  lick  absurd  pomp, 
And  crook  the  pregnant  ^  hinges  of  the  knee 
Where  thrift  may  follow  fawning.     Dost  thou  hear? 
Since  my  dear  soul  was  mistress  of  her  choice 
And  could  of  men  distinguish,  her  election 
Hath  seaPd  thee  for  herself;   for  thou  hast  been 
As  one,  in  suffering  all,  that  suffers  nothing, 
A  man  that  fortune's  buffets  and  rewards 
Hast  ta'en  with  equal  thanks :  and  blest  are  those 
Whose  blood  and  judgment  are  so  well  commingled. 
That  they  are  not  a  pipe  for  fortune's  finger 
To  sound  what  stop  she  please.     Give  me  that  man 
That  is  not  passion's  slave,  and  I  will  wear  him 
In  my  heart's  core,  ay,  in  my  heart  of  heart, 
As  I  do  thee. 

MIDNIGHT. 

'T  is  now  the  very  witching  time  of  night, 
When  churchyards  yawn  and  hell  itself  breathes  out 
Contagion  to  this  world :    now    could   I   drink   hot 
blood, 

1  Quick,  ready. 


Hamlet.  77 

And  do  such  bitter  business  as  the  day 

Would  quake  to  look  on.     Soft  !  now  to  my  mother. 

0  heart,  lose  not  thy  nature ;  let  not  ever 
The  soul  of  Nero  enter  this  firm  bosom : 
Let  me  be  cruel,  not  unnatural : 

1  will  speak  daggers  to  her,  but  use  none. 

THE   king's  despairing    SOLILOQUY,    AND  HAMLET'S 
REFLECTIONS    ON   HIM. 

O,  my  offence  is  rank,  it  smells  to  heaven; 

It  hath  the  primal  eldest  curse  upon  't, 

A  brother's  murder.     Pray  can  I  not, 

Though  inclination  be  as  sharp  as  will : 

My  stronger  guilt  defeats  my  strong  intent ; 

And,  like  a  man  to  double  business  bound, 

I  stand  in  pause  where  I  shall  first  begin. 

And  both  neglect.     What  if  this  cursed  hand 

Were  thicker  than  itself  with  brother's  blood, 

Is  there  not  rain  enough  in  the  sweet  heavens 

To  wash  it  white  as  snow?     Whereto  serves  mercy 

But  to  confront  the  visage  of  offence  ? 

And  what 's  in  prayer  but  this  two-fold  force. 

To  be  forestalled  ere  we  come  to  fall, 

Or  pardon'd  being  down  ?     Then  I  '11  look  up  ; 

My  fault  is  past.      But,  O,  what  form  of  prayer 

Can  serve  my  turn  ?     *  Forgive  me  my  foul  murder '  ? 

That  cannot  be ;  since  I  am  still  possess'd 

Of  those  effects  for  which  I  did  the  murder. 

My  crown,  mine  own  ambition  and  my  queen. 

May  one  be  pardon'd  and  retain  the  offence? 


78  Beauties  of  Shahspeare. 

In  the  corrupted  currents  of  this  world 

Offence's  gilded  hand  may  shove  by  justice, 

And  oft 't  is  seen  the  wicked  prize  itself 

Buys  out  the  law  :   but  't  is  not  so  above ; 

There  is  no  shuffling,  there  the  action  lies 

In  his  true  nature ;  and  we  ourselves  compelPd, 

Even  to  the  teeth  and  forehead  of  our  faults, 

To  give  in  evidence.     What  then?  what  rests? 

Try  what  repentance  can :  what  can  it  not  ? 

Yet  what  can  it  when  one  cannot  repent? 

O  wretched  state  !     O  bosom  black  as  death  ! 

O  limed  ^  soul,  that,  struggling  to  be  free, 

Art  more  engaged  !     Help,  angels  !  make  assay  ! 

Bow,   stubborn  knees ;    and,    heart  with    strings    of 

steel. 
Be  soft  as  sinews  of  the  new-born  babe  ! 
All  may  be  well.  \_Retires  and  kneels. 

Enter  Hamlet. 
Hamlet.     Now  might  I  do  it  pat,  now  he  is  pray- 
ing; 
And  now  I  '11  do  't.     And  so  he  goes  to  heaven ; 
And  so  I  am  revenged.     That  would  be  scann'd :  ^ 
A  villain  kills  my  father ;  and  for  that, 
I,  his  sole^  son,  do  this  same  villain  send 
To  heaven. 

O,  this  is  hire  and  salary,^  not  revenge. 
He  took  my  father  grossly,  full  of  bread ; 
With  all  his  crimes  broad  blown,  as  flush  as  May ; 

1  Caught  as  with  bird-lime.  *  Should  be  considered. 

»  Only.  *  Reward. 


Hamlet,  79 

And  how  his  audit  stands  who  knows  save  heaven? 

But  in  our  circumstance  and  course  of  thought, 

'T  is  heavy  with  him :  and  am  I  tlien  revenged, 

To  take  him  in  the  purging  of  his  soul, 

When  he  is  fit  and  season'd  for  his  passage  ? 

No! 

Up,  sword ;  and  know  thou  a  more  horrid  hent  :^ 

When  he  is  drunk  asleep,  or  in  his  rage, 

Or  in  the  incestuous  pleasure  of  his  bed ; 

At  gaming,  swearing,  or  about  some  act 

That  has  no  relish  of  salvation  in  't ; 

Then  trip  him,  that  his  heels  may  kick  at  heaven. 

And  that  his  soul  may  be  as  damn'd  and  black 

As  hell,  whereto  it  goes. 

HAMLET   AND    HIS    MOTHER. 

Queen.     What  have  I  done,  that  Ihou  darest  wag 
thy  tongue 
In  noise  so  rude  against  me? 

Hamlet.  Such  an  act 

That  blurs  the  grace  and  blush  of  modesty, 
Calls  virtue  hypocrite,  takes  off  the  rose 
From  the  fair  forehead  of  an  innocent  love 
And  sets  a  blister  there,  makes  marriage-vows 
As  false  as  dicers'  oaths :  O,  such  a  deed 
As  from  the  body  of  contraction  ^  plucks 
The  very  soul,  and  sweet  religion  makes 
A  rhapsody  of  words  :   heaven's  face  doth  glow ; 
Yea,  this  solidity  and  compound  mass, 

1  Seize  him  at  a  more  horrid  time.  »  Marriage  contract. 


8o  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

With  tristful '  visage,  as  against  the  doom, 
Is  thought-sick  at  the  act. 

Queen.  Ay  me,  what  act, 

That  roars  so  loud,  and  thunders  in  the  index?  2 

Ham.   Look  here,  upon  this  picture,  and  on  this, 
The  counterfeit  presentment  of  two  brothers. 
See,  what  a  grace  was  seated  on  this  brow ; 
Hyperion's^  curls;  the  front  of  Jove  himself; 
An  eye  like  Mars,  to  threaten  and  command ; 
A  station "  like  the  herald  Mercury 
New-lighted  on  a  heaven-kissing  hill ; 
A  combination  and  a  form  indeed. 
Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal, 
To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man : 
This  was    your   husband.      Look    you    now,    what 

follows : 
Here  is  your  husband ;  like  a  mildew'd  ear, 
Blasting  his  wholesome  brother.     Have  you  eyes? 
Could  you  on  this  fair  mountain  leave  to  feed. 
And  batten*  on  this  moor?     Ha  !  have  you  eyes? 
You  cannot  call  it  love ;  for  at  your  age 
The  hey-day  in  the  blood  is  tame,  it 's  humble. 
And  waits  upon  the  judgment :  and  what  judgment 
Would  step  from   this   to  this?      Sense, ^  sure,  you 

have, 
Else  could  you  not  have  motion  ;  but  sure,  that  sense 
Is  apoplex'd  ;  for  madness  would  not  err. 
Nor  sense  to  ecstasy '  was  ne'er  so  thraird 

1  Sorrowful.  *  Index  of  contents  prefixed  to  books. 

'Apollo's,  *  The  act  of  standing. 

*  To  grow  fat.  « Sensation.  ^  Frenzy. 


Hamlet.  8i 

But  it  reserved  some  quantity  of  choice, 

To  serve  in  such  a  difference.     What  devil  was  't 

That  thus  hath  cozen'd  you  at  hoodman-blind  ?  ^ 

Eyes  without  feeling,  feeling  without  sight, 

Ears  without  hands  or  eyes,  smelling  sans  ^  all, 

Or  but  a  sickly  part  of  one  true  sense 

Could  not  so  mope. ^ 

O  shame  !  where  is  thy  blush  ?     Rebellious  hell, 

If  thou  canst  mutine  in  a  matron's  bones, 

To  flaming  youth  let  virtue  be  as  wax, 

And  melt  in  her  own  fire :  proclaim  no  shame 

When  the  compulsive  ardour  gives  the  charge, 

Since  frost  itself  as  actively  doth  burn 

And  reason  pandars  will. 

Queen.  O  Hamlet,  speak  no  more : 

Thou  turn'st  mine  eyes  into  my  very  soul ; 
And  there  I  see  such  black  and  grained  spots 
As  will  not  leave  their  tinct.* 

Enter  Ghost. 
Hamlet.   Save  me,  and  hover  o'er  me  with  your 
wings. 
You  heavenly  guards !     What  would  your  gracious 
figure? 
Queen.     Alas,  he  's  mad  ! 

Ham.  Do  you  not  come  your  tardy  son  to  chide. 
That,  lapsed  in  time  and  passion,  lets  go  by 
The  important  acting  of  your  dread  command  ? 
O,  say ! 

1  Blindman's-bufF.  2  Without. 

8  Be  so  stupid.  *  Colour. 


82  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Ghost.  Do  not  forget :  this  visitation 
Is  but  to  whet  thy  almost  blunted  purpose. 
But,  look,  amazement  on  thy  mother  sits : 
O,  step  between  her  and  her  fighting  soul : 
Conceit  ^  in  weakest  bodies  strongest  works : 
Speak  to  her,  Hamlet. 

Ham.  How  is  it  with  you,  lady.-* 

Queen.  Alas,  how  is  't  with  you, 
That  you  do  bend  your  eye  on  vacancy 
And  with  the  incorporal  air  do  hold  discourse? 
Forth  at  your  eyes  your  spirits  wildly  peep  ; 
And,  as  the  sleeping  soldiers  in  the  alarm, 
Your  bedded  hair,  like  life  in  excrements, ^ 
Start  up,  and  stand  on  end.     O  gentle  son, 
Upon  the  heat  and  flame  of  thy  distemper 
Sprinkle  cool  patience.     Whereon  do  you  look? 

Ham.  On  him,  on  him  !     Look  you,  how  pale  he 
glares  ! 
His  form  and  cause  conjoined,  preaching  to  stones, 
Would  make  them  capable.^     Do  not  look  upon  me  ; 
Lest  with  this  piteous  action  you  convert 
My  stern  effects ;  "*  then  what  I  have  to  do 
Will  want  true  colour;  tears  perchance  ^  for  blood. 

Queen.  To  whom  do  you  speak  this? 

Ham.  Do  you  see  nothing  there  ? 

Queen.     Nothing  at  all ;  yet  all  that  is  I  see. 

Ham.     Nor  did  you  nothing  hear? 

1  Imagination. 

*The  hair  of  animals  is  excrementitious,  that  is,  without  life  or 
sensation. 
» Intelligent.  *  Actions.  »  Perhaps. 


Hamlet.  83 

Queen.  No,  nothing  but  ourselves. 

Ham.     Why,  look  you  there !  look,  how  it  steals 
away  ! 
My  father,  in  his  habit  as  he  lived ! 
Look,  where  he  goes,  even  now,  out  at  the  portal ! 

[Exit  Ghost. 

Queen.     This  is  the  very  coinage  of  your  brain : 
This  bodiless  creation  ecstasy  ^ 
Is  very  cunning  in. 

Ham.  Ecstasy ! 

My  pulse,  as  yours,  doth  temperately  keep  time, 
And  makes  as  healthful  music :  it  is  not  madness 
That  I  have  utter'd :  bring  me  to  the  test, 
And  I  the  matter  will  re-word ;  which  madness 
Would  gambol  from.     Mother,  for  love  of  grace, 
Lay  not  that  flattering  unction  to  your  soul. 
That  not  your  trespass,  but  my  madness  speaks : 
It  will  but  skin  and  film  the  ulcerous  place. 
Whiles  rank  corruption,  mining  all  within. 
Infects  unseen.     Confess  yourself  to  heaven ; 
Repent  what  's  past ;  avoid  what  is  to  come  ; 
And  do  not  spread  the  compost  ^  on  the  weeds, 
To  make  them  ranker.     Forgive  me  this  my  virtue ; 
For  in  the  fatness  of  these  pursy  times 
Virtue  itself  of  vice  must  pardon  beg. 
Yea,  curb  ^  and  woo  for  leave  to  do  him  good. 

Queen.     O    Hamlet,   thou  hast  cleft  my  heart  in 
twain. 

Ham.     O,  throw  away  the  worser  part  of  it, 
And  live  the  purer  with  the  oiher  half. 

1  Frenzy.  *  Manure.  »  Bend. 


84  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Good  night :  but  go  not  to  mine  uncle's  bed ; 

Assume  a  virtue,  if  you  have  it  not. 

That  monster,  custom,  who  all  sense  doth  eat, 

Of  habits  devil,  is  angel  yet  in  this. 

That  to  the  use  of  actions  fair  and  good 

He  likewise  gives  a  frock  or  livery, 

That  aptly  is  put  on.     Refrain  to-night, 

And  that  shall  lend  a  kind  of  easiness 

To  the  next  abstinence  :  the  next  more  easy ; 

For  use  almost  can  change  the  stamp  of  nature. 

And  either  curb  the  devil,  or  throw  him  out 

With  wondrous  potency.     Once  more,  good  night: 

And  when  you  are  desirous  to  be  bless'd, 

I  11  blessing  beg  of  you.     For  this  same  lord, 

[Pointing  to  Polonius. 
I  do  repent :  but  heaven  hath  pleased  it  so, 
To  punish  me  with  this  and  this  with  me. 
That  I  must  be  their  scourge  and  minister. 
I  will  bestow  him,  and  will  answer  well 
The  death  I  gave  him.     So,  again,  good  night. 
I  must  be  cruel,  only  to  be  kind : 
Thus  bad  begins  and  worse  remains  behind. 
One  word  more,  good  lady. 

Queen.  What  shall  I  do? 

Ham.     Not  this,  by  no  means,  that  I  bid  you  do : 
Let  the  bloat  king  tempt  you  again  to  bed ; 
Pinch  wanton  on  your  cheek ;  call  you  his  mouse  ;^ 
And  let  him,  for  a  pair  of  reechy  ^  kisses, 
Or  paddling  in  your  neck  with  his  damn'd  fingers, 
Make  you  to  ravel  all  this  matter  out, 

1  A  term  of  endearment.  *  Steaming  with  heat. 


Hamlet.  85 

That  I  essentially  am  not  in  madness, 

But  mad  in  craft.     T  were  good  you  let  him  know ; 

For  who,  that  's  but  a  queen,  fair,  sober,  wise, 

Would  from  a  paddock,'  from  a  bat,  a  gib,^ 

Such  dear  concernings  hide  ?     Who  would  do  so  ? 

No,  in  despite  of  sense  and  secrecy. 

Unpeg  the  basket  on  the  house's  top. 

Let  the  birds  fly,  and,  like  the  famous  ape, 

To  try  conclusions,^  in  the  basket  creep, 

And  break  your  own  neck  down. 

Queen.      Be  thou  assured,   if  words  be  made  of 
breath. 
And  breath  of  life,  I  have  no  life  to  breathe 
What  thou  hast  said  to  me. 

Ham.     I  must  to  England;  you  know  that? 

Queen.  Alack, 

I  had  forgot :  't  is  so  concluded  on. 

Ha77i.    There  's  letters  seaPd  :  and  my  two  school- 
fellows. 
Whom  I  will  trust  as  I  will  adders  fang'd," 
They  bear  the  mandate  ;  they  must  sweep  my  way, 
And  marshal  me  to  knavery.     Let  it  work ; 
For  't  is  the  sport  to  have  the  engineer 
Hoist  with  his  own  petar :  ^  and  't  shall  go  hard 
But  I  will  delve  one  yard  below  their  mines, 
And  blow  them  at  the  moon. 

1  Toad.  2  Cat.  3  Experiments. 

*  Having  their  teeth.  ^  Blown  up  with  his  own  bomb. 


86  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


ACT  IV. 

hamlet's  irresolution. 

How  all  occasions  do  inform  against  me, 

And  spur  my  dull  revenge !     What  is  a  man, 

If  his  chief  good  and  market^  of  his  time 

Be  but  to  sleep  and  feed?  a  beast,  no  more. 

Sure,  he  that  made  us  with  such  large  discourse,' 

Looking  before  and  after,  gave  us  not 

That  capability  and  god-like  reason 

To  fust  ^  in  us  unused.     Now,  whether  it  be 

Bestial  oblivion,  or  some  craven  *  scruple 

Of  thinking  too  precisely  on  the  event, 

A    thought    which,    quartered,    hath   but    one    part 

wisdom 
And  ever  three  parts  coward,  I  do  not  know 
Why  yet  I  live  to  say  '  This  thing  's  to  do  ; ' 
Sith  ^  I  have  cause  and  will  and  strength  and  means 
To  do  't.     Examples  gross  as  earth  exhort  me : 
Witness  this  army  of  such  mass  and  charge 
Led  by  a  delicate  and  tender  prince. 
Whose  spirit  with  divine  ambition  puff'd 
Makes  mouths  at  the  invisible  event, 
Exposing  what  is  mortal  and  unsure 
To  all  that  fortune,  death  and  danger  dare, 
Even  for  an  egg-shell.     Rightly  to  be  great 
Is  not  to  stir  without  great  argument, 

1  Profit.  »  Power  of  comprehension. 

»  Grow  mouldy.  *  Cowardly.  o  Since. 


Hamlet,  S7 

But  greatly  to  find  quarrel  in  a  straw 
When  honor  's  at  the  stake.     How  stand  I  then, 
That  have  a  father  kill'd,  a  mother  stain'd, 
Excitements  of  my  reason  and  my  blood, 
And  let  all  sleep?  while,  to  my  shame,  I  see 
The  imminent  death  of  twenty  thousand  men, 
That,  for  a  fantasy  and  trick  of  fame, 
Go  to  their  graves  like  beds,  fight  for  a  plot 
Whereon  the  numbers  cannot  try  the  cause. 
Which  is  not  tomb  enough  and  continent 
To  hide  the  slain?     O,  from  this  time  forth, 
My  thoughts  be  bloody,  or  be  nothing  worth  ! 


SORROWS   RARELY   SINGLE. 

O  Gertrude,  Gertrude, 
When  sorrows  come,  they  come  not  single  spies, 
But  in  battalions. 

THE   DIVINITY    OF    KINGS. 

Let  him  go,  Gertrude  ;  do  not  fear  our  person : 
There  's  such  divinity  doth  hedge  a  king, 
That  treason  can  but  peep  to  what  it  would. 
Acts  little  of  his  will. 

DESCRIPTION   OF    OPHELIA'S    DEATH. 

There  is  a  willow  grows  aslant  a  brook. 
That  shows  his  hoar  leaves  in  the  glassy  stream ; 
.There  with  fantastic  garlands  did  she  come 


88  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Of  crow-flowers,  nettles,  daisies,  and  long  purples  ^ 

That  liberal'  shepherds  give  a  grosser  name. 

But    our   cold    maids    do    dead    men's   fingers    call 

them  : 
There,  on  the  pendent  boughs  her  coronet  weeds 
Clambering  to  hang,  an  envious  sliver  broke ; 
When  down  her  weedy  trophies  and  herself 
Fell  in   the   weeping   brook.       Her   clothes    spread 

wide; 
And,  mermaid-like,  awhile  they  bore  her  up : 
Which  time  she  chanted  snatches  of  old  tunes ; 
As  one  incapable  ^  of  her  own  distress. 
Or  like  a  creature  native  and  indued 
Unto  that  element :  but  long  it  could  not  be 
Till  that  her  garments,  heavy  with  their  drink, 
Puird  the  poor  wretch  from  her  melodious  lay 
To  muddy  death. 


ACT   V. 

hamlet's  reflections  on  yorick's  skull. 

1st  Clown.  A  pestilence  on  him  for  a  mad 
rogue !  a'  poured  a  flagon  of  Rhenish  on  my  head 
once.  This  same  skull,  sir,  was  Yorick's  skull,  the 
king's  jester. 

Hamlet.     This  ? 

1st  Clown.     E'en  that. 

Ham.      Let  me  see.      [Takes   the   skull.']     Alas, 

1  Orchis  ntorio  mas.  *  licentious.  »  Insensible. 


Hamlet.  89 

poor  Yorick  !  I  knew  him,  Horatio :  a  fellow  of  in- 
finite jest,  of  most  excellent  fancy :  h&  hath  borne 
me  on  his  back  a  thousand  times ;  and  now,  how 
abhorred  in  my  imagination  it  is  !  my  gorge  rises  at 
it.  Here  hung  those  lips  that  I  have  kissed  I  know 
not  how  oft.  Where  be  your  gibes  now?  your 
gambols?  your  songs?  your  flashes  of  merriment, 
that  were  wont  to  set  the  table  on  a  roar?  Not  one 
now,  to  mock  your  own  grinning?  quite  chap-fallen? 
Now  get  you  to  my  lady's  chamber,  and  tell  her,  let 
her  paint  an  inch  thick,  to  this  favour  *  she  must 
come  ;  make  her  laugh  at  that. 

OPHELIA'S    INTERMENT. 

Lay  her  i'  the  earth  : 
And  from  her  fair  and  unpolluted  flesh 
May  violets  spring !    I  tell  thee,  churlish  priest, 
A  ministering  angel  shall  my  sister  be, 
When  thou  liest  howling. 


MELANCHOLY. 

This  is  mere  madness 
And  thus  awhile  the  fit  will  work  on  him ; 
Anon,  as  patient  as  the  female  dove. 
When  that  her  golden  couplets  are  disclosed, 2 
His  silence  will  sit  drooping. 

1  Countenance,  complexion.  2  Hatched. 


90  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

PROVIDENCE   DIRECTS   OUR   ACTIONS. 

And  that  should  teach  us 
There  's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  will. 

A    HEALTH. 

Give  me  the  cups ; 
And  let  the  kettle  to  the  trumpet  speak, 
The  trumpet  to  the  cannoneer  without. 
The  cannons  to  the  heavens,  the  heavens  to  earth, 
*  Now  the  king  drinks  to  Hamlet.' 


JULIUS   C/ESAR. 


ACT   I. 


PATRIOTISM. 


What  is  it  that  you  would  impart  to  me? 

If  it  be  aught  toward  the  general  good, 

Set  honour  in  one  eye  and  death  i'  the  other, 

And  I  will  look  on  both  indifferently : 

For  let  the  gods  so  speed  me  as  I  love 

The  name  of  honour  more  than  I  fear  death. 


CONTEMPT   OF   CASSIUS   FOR   CAESAR. 

I  was  born  free  as  Caesar ;  so  were  you  : 

We  both  have  fed  as  well,  and  we  can  both 

Endure  the  winter's  cold  as  well  as  he  : 

For  once,  upon  a  raw  and  gusty  ^  day, 

The  troubled  Tiber  chafing  with  her  shores, 

Caesar  said  to  me  '  Barest  thou,  Cassius,  now 

Leap  in  with  me  into  this  angry  flood, 

And  swim  to  yonder  point  ?  '     Upon  the  word, 

Accoutred  as  I  was,  I  plunged  in 

And  bade  him  follow ;  so  indeed  he  did. 

The  torrent  roar'd,  and  we  did  buffet  it 

»  Windy. 


92  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

With  lusty  sinews,  throwing  it  aside 

And  stemming  it  with  hearts  of  controversy ; 

But  ere  we  could  arrive  the  point  proposed, 

Caesar  cried. '  Help  me,  Cassius,  or  I  sink  !  ' 

I,  as  ^neas,  our  great  ancestor. 

Did  from  the  flames  of  Troy  upon  his  shoulder 

The  old  Anchises  bear,  so  from  the  waves  of  Tiber 

Did  I  the  tired  Caesar.     And  this  man 

Is  now  become  a  god,  and  Cassius  is 

A  wretched  creature  and  must  bend  his  body, 

If  Caesar  carelessly  but  nod  on  him. 

He  had  a  fever  when  he  was  in  Spain, 

And  when  the  fit  was  on  him,  I  did  mark 

How  he  did  shake  :  't  is  true,  this  god  did  shake  : 

His  coward  lips  did  from  their  colour  fly, 

And  that  same  eye  whose  bend  doth  awe  the  world 

Did  lose  his  lustre  :   I  did  hear  him  groan  : 

Ay,  and  that  tongue  of  his  that  bade  the  Romans 

Mark  him  and  write  his  speeches  in  their  books, 

Alas,  it  cried  '  Give  me  some  drink,  Titinius,' 

As  a  sick  girl.     Ye  gods,  it  doth  amaze  me 

A  man  of  such  a  feeble  temper  ^  should 

So  get  the  start  of  the  majestic  world 

And  bear  the  palm  alone.  [Shout.     Flourish. 

Brutus.    Another  general  shout ! 
I  do  believe  that  these  applauses  are 
For  some  new  honours  that  are  heap'd  on  Caesar. 

Cassius.    Why,  man,*  he  doth  bestride  the  narrow 
world 
Like  a  Colossus,  and  we  petty  men 

1  Temperament,  constitution. 


Julius  Ccesar,  93 

Walk  under  his  huge  legs  and  peep  about 

To  find  ourselves  dishonourable  graves. 

Men  at  some  time  are  masters  of  their  fates : 

The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars, 

But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings. 

Brutus  and  Caesar :  what  should  be  in  that  *  Caesar  '  ? 

Why  should  that  name  be  sounded  more  than  yours  ? 

Write  them  together,  yours  is  as  fair  a  name ; 

Sound  them,  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well ; 

Weigh  them,  it  is  as  heavy;  conjure  with  'em, 

Brutus  will  start  a  spirit  as  soon  as  Caesar. 

Now,  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once, 

Upon  what  meat  doth  this  our  Caesar  feed, 

That  he  is  grown  so  great  ?     Age,  thou  art  shamed ! 

Rome,  thou  hast  lost  the  breed  of  noble  bloods  ! 

When  went  there  by  an  age,  since  the  great  flood, 

But  it  was  famed  with  more  than  with  one  man? 

When  could  they  say  till  now,  that  talk'd  of  Rome, 

That  her  wide  walls  encompassed  but  one  man? 

CiESAR'S   DISLIKE   OF    CASSIUS. 

Would  he  were  fatter  !     But  I  fear  him  not : 

Yet  if  my  name  were  liable  to  fear, 

I  do  not  know  the  man  I  should  avoid 

So  soon  as  that  spare  Cassius.     He  reads  much ; 

He  is  a  great  observer  and  he  looks 

Quite  through  the  deeds  of  men ;  he  loves  no  plays, 

As  thou  dost,  Antony ;  he  hears  no  music ; 

Seldom  he  smiles,  and  smiles  in  such  a  sort 

As  if  he  mock'd  himself  and  scorn'd  his  spirit 


94  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

That  could  be  moved  to  smile  at  any  thing. 
Such  men  as  he  be  never  at  heart's  ease 
Whiles  they  behold  a  greater  than  themselves, 
And  therefore  are  they  very  dangerous. 
I  rather  tell  thee  what  is  to  be  fear'd 
Than  what  I  fear ;  for  always  I  am  Caesar. 

SPIRIT   OF   LIBERTY. 

I  know  where  I  will  wear  this  dagger  then ; 
Cassius  from  bondage  will  deliver  Cassius : 
Therein,  ye  gods,  you  make  the  weak  most  strong ; 
Therein,  ye  gods,  you  tyrants  do  defeat : 
Nor  stony  tower,  nor  walls  of  beaten  brass, 
Nor  airless  dungeon,  nor  strong  links  of  iron, 
Can  be  retentive  to  the  strength  of  spirit ; 
But  life,  being  weary  of  these  worldly  bars. 
Never  lacks  power  to  dismiss  itself. 
If  I  know  this,  know  all  the  world  besides, 
That  part  of  tyranny  that  I  do  bear 
I  can  shake  off  at  pleasure. 


ACT   II. 

AMBITION   CLOTHED   WITH    SPECIOUS    HUMILITY. 

But  't  is  a  common  proof,' 
That  lowliness  is  young  ambition's  ladder. 
Whereto  the  climber-upward  turns  his  face ; 
But  when  he  once  attains  the  upmost  round, 

1  Experience. 


Julius  Ccesar,  95 

He  then  unto  the  ladder  turns  his  back, 

Looks  in  the  clouds,  scorning  the  base  degrees  ^ 

By  which  he  did  ascend. 

CONSPIRACY    DREADFUL   TILL    EXECUTED. 

Between  the  acting  of  a  dreadful  thing 
And  the  first  motion,  all  the  interim  is 
Like  a  phantasma,^  or  a  hideous  dream : 
The  Genius  and  the  mortal  instruments 
Are  then  in  council ;  and  the  state  of  man, 
Like  to  a  little  kingdom,  suffers  then 
The  nature  of  an  insurrection. 

BRUTUS'   APOSTROPHE    TO    CONSPIRACY. 

O  conspiracy, 
Shamest  thou  to  show  thy  dangerous  brow  by  night, 
When  evils  are  most  free?     O,  then  by  day 
Where  wilt  thou  find  a  cavern  dark  enough 
To  mask  thy  monstrous  visage?     Seek  none,   coi>' 

spiracy ; 
Hide  it  in  smiles  and  affability : 
For  if  thou  path,  thy  native  semblance^  on, 
Not  Erebus  '*  itself  were  dim  enough 
To  hide  thee  from  prevention. 

AGAINST    CRUELTY. 

Gentle  friends, 
Let  's  kill  him  boldly,  but  not  wrathfully ; 

1  Low  steps.  2  Visionary. 

8  Walk  in  thy  true  form.  *  Hell. 


g6  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Let  's  carve  him  as  a  dish  fit  for  the  gods, 
Not  hew  him  as  a  carcass  fit  for  hounds : 
And  let  our  hearts,  as  subtle  masters  do, 
Stir  up  their  servants  to  an  act  of  rage. 
And  after  seem  to  chide  'em. 


Enjoy  the  honey-heavy  dew  of  slumber : 
Thou  hast  no  figures  ^  nor  no  fantasies, 
Which  busy  care  draws  in  the  brains  of  men; 
Therefore  thou  sleep'st  so  sound. 

PORTIA'S     SPEECH    TO    BRUTUS. 

You  've  ungently,  Brutus, 
Stole  from  my  bed :  and  yesternight,  at  supper, 
You  suddenly  arose,  and  walk'd  about, 
Musing  and  sighing,  with  your  arms  across. 
And  when  I  ask'd  you  what  the  matter  was. 
You  stared  upon  me  with  ungentle  looks ; 
I  urged  you  further;  then  you  scratch 'd  your  head, 
And  too  impatiently  stamp'd  with  your  foot ; 
Yet  I  insisted,  yet  you  answer'd  not, 
But,  with  an  angry  wafture  of  your  hand. 
Gave  sign  for  me  to  leave  you :  so  I  did ; 
Fearing  to  strengthen  that  impatience 
Which  seem'd  too  much  enkindled,  and  withal 
Hoping  it  was  but  an  effect  of  humour. 
Which  sometime  hath  his  hour  with  every  man. 

1  Shapes  created  by  imagination. 


Julius  Ccesar.  97 

It  will  not  let  you  eat,  nor  talk,  nor  sleep. 
And  could  it  work  so  much  upon  your  shape 
As  it  hath  much  prevaiPd  on  your  condition,' 
I  should  not  know  you,  Brutus.     Dear  my  lord. 
Make  me  acquainted  with  your  cause  of  grief. 

calpurnia's   address  to  c^sar  on   the   prodi- 
gies   SEEN   THE    NIGHT   BEFORE    HIS   DEATH. 

Calpurnia.     Cassar,  I  never  stood  on  ceremonies,^ 
Yet  now  they  fright  me.     There  is  one  within. 
Besides  the  things  that  we  have  heard  and  seen, 
Recounts  most  horrid  sights  seen  by  the  watch. 
A  lioness  hath  whelped  in  the  streets  ; 
And  graves  have  yawn'd,  and  yielded  up  their  dead ; 
Fierce  fiery  warriors  fought  upon  the  clouds, 
In  ranks  and  squadrons  and  right  form  of  war, 
Which  drizzled  blood  upon  the  Capitol ; 
The  noise  of  battle  hurtled  ^  in  the  air, 
Horses  did  neigh,  and  dying  men  did  groan, 
And  ghosts  did  shriek  and  squeal  ^  about  the  streets. 
O  Caesar  !  these  things  are  beyond  all  use. 
And  I  do  fear  them. 

CcBsar.  What  can  be  avoided 

Whose  end  is  purposed  by  the  mighty  gods  ? 
Yet  Caesar  shall  go  forth ;  for  these  predictions 
Are  to  the  world  in  general  as  to  Caesar. 

Cal.  When  beggars  die,  there  are  no  comets  seen ; 
The  heavens  themselves  blaze  forth    the    death    of 

princes. 

1  Temper.  2  Never  paid  a  regard  to  prodigies  or  omens. 

3  JIncountered,  *  Cry  with  pain. 


g8  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


A.GAINST    THE   FEAR   OF   DEATH. 

Cowards  die  many  times  before  their  deaths ; 

The  vahant  never  taste  of  death  but  once. 

Of  all  the  wonders  that  I  yet  have  heard, 

It  seems  to  me  most  strange  that  men  should  fear ; 

Seeing  that  death,  a  necessary  end, 

Will  come  when  it  will  come. 


DANGER. 

Danger  knows  full  well 
That  Caesar  is  more  dangerous  than  he ; 
We  are  two  lions  littered  in  one  day, 
And  I  the  elder  and  more  terrible. 


ENVY. 

My  heart  laments  that  virtue  cannot  live 
Out  of  the  teeth  of  emulation.' 


ACT   III. 

ANTONY'S   ADDRESS   TO    THE   CORPSE   OF   CESAR. 

O  mighty  Caesar  !  dost  thou  lie  so  low  ? 

Are  all  thy  conquests,  glories,  triumphs,  spoils, 

Shrunk  to  this  little  measure  ?     Fare  thee  well. 

1  Envy. 


Julius  CcBsar,  99 


ANTONY'S   SPEECH   TO    THE   CONSPIRATORS. 

I  know  not,  gentlemen,  what  you  intend, 

Who  else  must  be  let  blood,  who  else  is  rank:' 

If  I  myself,  there  is  no  hour  so  fit 

As  Caesar's  death's  hour,  nor  no  instrument 

Of  half  that  worth  as  those  your  swords,  made  rich 

With  the  most  noble  blood  of  all  this  world. 

I  do  beseech  ye,  if  you  bear  me  hard. 

Now,  whilst  your  purpled  hands  do  reek  and  smoke, 

Fulfil  your  pleasure.     Live  a  thousand  years, 

I  shall  not  find  myself  so  apt  to  die  : 

No  place  will  please  me  so,  no  mean  of  death, 

As  here  by  Caesar,  and  by  you  cut  off. 

The  choice  and  master  spirits  of  this  age. 

REVENGE. 

Caesar's  spirit,  ranging  for  revenge, 
With  At6  by  his  side  come  hot  from  hell, 
Shall  in  these  confines  with  a  monarch's  voice 
Cry  '  Havoc,'*  and  let  slip^  the  dogs  of  war. 

BRUTUS'    SPEECH    TO    THE   PEOPLE. 

If  there  be  any  in  this  assembly,  any  dear  friend 
of  Caesar's,  to  him  I  say,  that  Brutus'  love  to  Caesar 
was  no  less  than  his.     If  then  that  friend  demand 

1  Grown  too  high  for  the  public  safety. 

2  The  signal  for  giving  no  quarter. 

3  To  let  slip  a  dog  at  a  deer,  &c.  was  the  technical  phrase  of 
Shakspeare's  time. 


loo  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

why  Brutus  rose  against  Caesar,  this  is  my  answer :  — 
Not  that  I  loved  Caesar  less,  but  that  I  loved  Rome 
more.  Had  you  rather  Caesar  were  living  and  die  all 
slaves,  than  that  Caesar  were  dead,  to  live  all  free 
men?  As  Caesar  loved  me,  I  weep  for  him;  as  he 
was  fortunate,  I  rejoice  at  it ;  as  he  was  vahant,  I 
honour  him  :  but,  as  he  was  ambitious,  I  slew  him. 
There  is  tears  for  his  love  ;  joy  for  his  fortune  ;  honour 
for  his  valour ;  and  death  for  his  ambition.  Who  is 
here  so  base  that  would  be  a  bondman?  If  any, 
speak ;  for  him  have  I  offended.  Who  is  here  so 
rude  that  would  not  be  a  Roman  ?  If  any,  speak ; 
for  him  have  I  offended.  Who  is  here  so  vile  that 
will  not  love  his  country?  If  any,  speak;  for  him 
have  I  offended. 


ANTONY'S  FUNERAL  ORATION. 

Friends,  Romans,  countrymen,  lend  me  your  ears ; 

I  come  to  bury  Caesar,  not  to  praise  him. 

The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them ; 

The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones ; 

So  let  it  be  with  Caesar.     The  noble  Brutus 

Hath  told  you  Caesar  was  ambitious : 

If  it  were  so,  it  was  a  grievous  fault, 

And  grievously  hath  Caesar  answer'd  it. 

Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus  and  the  rest  — 

For  Brutus  is  an  honourable  man ; 

So  are  they  all,  all  honourable  men  — 

Come  I  to  speak  in  Caesar's  funeral. 

He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me : 


Jutius'  Cmat,       ^  lot 

But  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious ; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honourable  man. 

He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 

Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill : 

Did  this  in  Caesar  seem  ambitious  ? 

When  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Caesar  hath  wept : 

Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff: 

Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious  ; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honourable  man. 

You  all  did  see  that  on  the  Lupercal 

I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 

Which  he  did  thrice  refuse :  was  this  ambition  ? 

Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious ; 

And,  sure,  he  is  an  honourable  man. 

I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke, 

But  here  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know. 

You  all  did  love  him  once,  not  without  cause : 

What  cause  withholds  you  then,  to  mourn  for  him? 

O  judgment !  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts, 

And  men  have  lost  their  reason.     Bear  with  me ; 

My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Caesar, 

And  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me. 

But  yesterday  the  word  of  Caesar  might 

Have  stood  against  the  world ;   now  lies  he  there, 

And  none  so  poor  ^  to  do  him  reverence. 

0  masters,  if  I  were  disposed  to  stir 
Your  hearts  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 

1  should  do  Brutus  wrong,  and  Cassius  wrong, 

1  The  meanest  man  is  now  too  high  to  do  reverence  to  Caesar. 


loz  Beau  ties  of  Shakspeare. 

Who,  you  all  know,  are  honourable  men : 

I  will  not  do  them  wrong ;  I  rather  choose 

To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myself  and  you, 

Than  I  will  wrong  such  honourable  men. 

But  here  's  a  parchment  with  the  seal  of  Caesar ; 

I  found  it  in  his  closet,  't  is  his  will : 

Let  but  the  commons  hear  this  testament  — 

Which,  pardon  me,  I  do  not  mean  to  read  — 

And  they  would  go  and  kiss  dead  Caesar's  wounds 

And  dip  their  napkins '  in  his  sacred  blood. 

Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  for  memory. 

And,  dying,  mention  it  within  their  wills, 

Bequeathing  it  as  a  rich  legacy 

Unto  their  issue. 

4th  Citizen.     We  '11  hear  the  will :  read   it,  Mark 
Antony. 

All.     The  will,  the  will !  we  will  hear  Caesar's  will. 

Antony.      Have  patience,  gentle  friends,   I  must 
not  read  it ; 
It  is  not  meet  you  know  how  Caesar  loved  you. 
You  are  not  wood,  you  are  not  stones,  but  men ; 
And,  being  men,  hearing  the  will  of  Caesar, 
It  will  inflame  you,  it  will  make  you  mad : 
'T  is  good  you  know  not  that  you  are  his  heirs ; 
For,  if  you  should,  O,  what  would  come  of  it  ! 

^th  at.     Read  the  will ;  we  '11  hear  it,  Antony ; 
You  shall  read  us  the  will,  Caesar's  will. 

Ant.     Will   you    be    patient?     Will    you   stay   a 
while  t 

1  Handkerchiefs. 


Julius  Ccesar,  103 

J  have  o'ershot  myself  to  tell  you  of  it : 

I  fear  I  wrong  the  honourable  men 

Whose  daggers  have  stabb'd  Csesar ;   I  do  fear  it. 

4.th  at.     They  were  traitors  :  honourable  men  ! 

All.     The  will !  the  testament  ! 

2d  at.     They  were  villains,  murderers  :  the  will ! 
Read  the  will. 

Ant.     You  will  compel  me,  then,  to  read  the  will? 
Then  make  a  ring  about  the  corpse  of  Caesar, 
And  let  me  show  you  him  that  made  the  will. 
Shall  I  descend  ?     And  will  you  give  me  leave  ? 

Several  at.     Come  down. 

2d  at.     Descend. 

^d  at.     You  shall  have  leave. 

\Antony  comes  down. 

Ant.     If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 
You  all  do  know  this  mantle  :   I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on  ; 
'T  was  on  a  summer's  evening,  in  his  tent, 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii : 
Look,  in  this  place  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through  : 
See  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made : 
Through  this  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabb'd ; 
And  as  he  pluck'd  his  cursed  steel  away, 
Mark  how  the  blood  of  Caesar  followed  it. 
As  rushing  out  of  doors,  to  be  resolved 
If  Brutus  so  unkindly  knockM,  or  no ; 
For  Brutus,  as  you  know,  was  Caesar's  angel : 


I04  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Judge,  O  you  gods,  how  dearly  Caesar  loved  him  ! 
This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all ; 
For  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab, 
Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors'  arms. 
Quite  vanquish'd  him :   then  burst  his  mighty  heart ; 
And,  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face. 
Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey''s  statua,' 
Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Caesar  fell. 
O,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen! 
Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us  fell  down. 
Whilst  bloody  treason  flourished  over  us.^ 
O,  now  you  weep ;  and,  I  perceive,  you  feel 
The  dint^  of  pity:   these  are  gracious  drops. 
Kind  souls,  what,  weep  you  when  you  but  behold 
Our  Caesar's  vesture  wounded?     Look  you  here. 
Here  is  himself,  marr'd,  as  you  see,  with  traitors. 
1st  at,     O  piteous  spectacle  ! 

2d   at.    We  will  be  revenged. 
All.     Revenge  !     About  !     Seek !     Burn !      Fire ! 
Kill !     Slay  !     Let  not  a  traitor  live  ! 

Ant.  Good  friends,  sweet  friends,  let  me  not  stir 
you  up 
To  such  a  sudden  flood  of  mutiny. 
They  that  have  done  this  deed  are  honourable : 
What  private  griefs  '^  they  have,  alas,  I  know  not. 
That  made  them  do  it :  they  are  wise  and  honourable, 
And  will,  no  doubt,  with  reasons  answer  you. 

1  Statua,  for  statue,  is  common  among  the  old  writers. 
»  Was  successful.  3  Impression.  *  Grievances. 


Julius  Ccesar.  105 

I  come  not,  friends,  to  steal  away  your  hearts : 

I  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is  ; 

But,  as  you  know  me  all,  a  plain  blunt  man. 

That  love  my  friend ;   and  that  they  know  full  well 

That  gave  me  public  leave  to  speak  of  him  : 

For  I  have  neither  wit,  nor  words,  nor  worth, 

Action,  nor  utterance,  nor  the  power  of  speech, 

To  stir  men's  blood  :   I  only  speak  right  on  ; 

I  tell  you  that  which  you  yourselves  do  know ; 

Show  you  sweet  Caesar's  wounds,  poor  poor  dumb 

mouths, 
And  bid  them  speak  for  me  :  but  were  I  Brutus, 
And  Brutus  Antony,  there  were  an  Antony 
Would  ruffle  up  your  spirits  and  put  a  tongue 
In  every  wound  of  Caesar  that  Should  move 
The  stones  of  Rome  to  rise  and  mutiny. 


ACT    IV. 

CEREMONY   INSINCERE. 

Ever  note,  Lucilius, 
When  love  begins  to  sicken  and  decay. 
It  useth  an  enforced  ceremony. 
There  are  no  tricks  in  plain  and  simple  faith  ; 
But  hollow  men,  like  horses  hot  at  hand. 
Make  gallant  show  and  promise  of  their  mettle ; 
But  when  they  should  endure  the  bloody  spur. 
They  fall  their  crests,  and,  like  deceitful  jades, 
Sink  in  the  trial. 


io6  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


THE   TENT   SCENE    BETWEEN    BRUTUS   AND    CASSIUS. 

Cassius.  That  you  have  wrongM  me  doth  appear 
in  this  : 
You  have  condemned  and  noted  Lucius  Pella 
For  taking  bribes  here  of  the  Sardians  ; 
Wherein  my  letters,  praying  on  his  side, 
Because  I  knew  the  man,  were  slighted  off. 

Brutus.  You  wrong'd   yourself  to  write  in  such  a 
case. 

Cas.  In  such  a  time  as  this  it  is  not  meet 
That  every  nice^  offence  should  bear  his  comment. 

Bru.  Let  me  tell  you,  Cassius,  you  yourself 
Are  much  condemn'd  to  have  an  itching  palm ; 
To  sell  and  mart  your  'offices  for  gold 
To  undeservers. 

Cas.  I  an  itching  palm  ! 

You  know  that  you  are  Brutus  that  speak  this. 
Or,  by  the  gods,  this  speech  were  else  your  last. 

Bru.     The  name    of  Cassius  honours  this  corrup- 
tion. 
And  chastisement  doth  therefore  hide  his  head. 

Cas.    Chastisement ! 

Bru.    Remember  March,  the  ides  of  March  remem- 
ber: 
Did  not  great  Julius  bleed  for  justice'  sake  .'* 
What  villain  touched  his  body,  that  did  stab, 
And  not  for  justice?     What,  shall  one  of  us, 
That  struck  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world 

1  Trifling. 


Julius  Ccesar,  107 

But  for  supporting  robbers,  shall  we  now 
Contaminate  our  fingers  with  base  bribes, 
And  sell  the  mighty  space  of  our  large  honours 
For  so  much  trash  as  may  be  grasped  thus  ? 
I  had  rather  be  a  dog,  and  bay  ^  the  moon, 
Than  such  a  Roman. 

Cas.  Brutus,  bay  not  me  ; 

I  Ul  not  endure  it :   you  forget  yourself, 
To  hedge  me  in ;  '^  I  am  a  soldier,  I, 
Older  in  practice,  abler  than  yourself 
To  make  conditions. ^ 

Bru.  Go  to  ;  you  are  not,  Cassius. 

Cas.     I  am. 

Bru.     I  say  you  are  not. 

Cas.     Urge  me  no  more,  I  shall  forget  myself; 
Have  mind  upon  your  health,  tempt  me  no  farther. 

Bru.     Away,  slight  man  ! 

Cas.     Is  't  possible  ? 

Bru.  Hear  me,  for  I  will  speak. 

Must  I  give  way  and  room  to  your  rash  choler? 
Shall  I  be  frighted  when  a  madman  stares? 

Cas.     O  ye  gods,  ye  gods !     Must  I   endure  all 
this? 

Bru.     All  this  !    ay,   more :    fret  till  your  proud 
heart  break ; 
Go  show  your  slaves  how  choleric  you  are, 
And  make  your  bondmen  tremble.     Must  I  budge? 
Must  I  observe  you  ?     Must  I  stand  and  crouch 
Under  your  testy  humour?     By  the  gods, 

1  Bait,  bark  at.  2  Limit  my  authority. 

'  Terms,  fit  to  confer  the  offices  at  my  disposal. 


io8  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

You  shall  digest  the  venom  of  your  spleen, 
Though  it  do  split  you;  for,  from  this  day  forth, 
I  '11  use  you  for  my  mirth,  yea,  for  my  laughter. 
When  you  are  waspish. 

Cas.  Is  it  come  to  this? 

Br?^.     You  say  you  are  a  better  soldier : 
Let  it  appear  so ;  make  your  vaunting  true. 
And  it  shall  please  me  well :  for  mine  own  part, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  noble  men. 

Cas.     You  wrong  me  every  way ;   you  wrong  me, 
Brutus ; 
1  said,  an  elder  soldier,  not  a  better : 
Did  I  say  '  better'? 

Bru.  If  you  did,  I  care  not. 

Cas.     When  Caesar  lived,  he  durst  not  thus  have 
moved  me. 

Bru.     Peace,  peace  !  you  durst  not  so  have  tempted 
him. 

Cas. .    I  durst  not ! 

Bru.     No. 

Cas.     What,  durst  not  tempt  him  ! 

Bru.  For  your  life  you  durst  not. 

Cas.     Do  not  presume  too  much  upon  my  love  ; 
I  may  do  that  I  shall  be  sorry  for. 

Bru.     You  have  done  that  you  should  be  sorry  for 
There  is  no  terror,  Cassius,  in  your  threats, 
For  I  am  arm'd  so  strong  in  honesty 
That  they  pass  by  me  as  the  idle  wind, 
Which  I  respect  not.     I  did  send  to  you 
For  certain  sums  of  gold,  which  you  denied  me : 
For  I  can  raise  no  money  by  vile  means : 


Julius  Ccesar.  109 

By  heaven,  I  had  rather  coin  my  heart, 

And  drop  my  blood  for  drachmas,'  than  to  wring 

From  the  hard  hands  of  peasants  their  vile  trash 

By  any  indirection  :   I  did  send 

To  you  for  gold  to  pay  my  legions. 

Which  you  denied  me :  was  that  done  like  Cassius? 

Should  I  have  answered  Caius  Cassius  so? 

When  Marcus  Brutus  grows  so  covetous. 

To  lock  such  rascal  counters  from  his  friends, 

Be  ready,  gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolts ; 

Dash  him  to  pieces  ! 

.    Cas.  I  denied  you  not. 

Bru.     You  did. 

Cas.  I  did  not :   he  was  but  a  fool 

That  brought  my  answer  back.     Brutus  hath   rived  ' 

my  heart : 
A  friend  should  bear  his  friend's  infirmities, 
But  Brutus  makes  mine  greater  than  they  are. 

Bru.     I  do  not,  till  you  practise  them  on  me. 

Cas.     You  love  me  not. 

Bru.  I  do  not  like  your  faults. 

Cas.     A  friendly  eye  could  never  see  such  faults. 

Bru.     A  flatterer's  would  not,  though  they  do  ap- 
pear 
As  huge  as  high  Olympus. 

Cas.     Come,  Antony,  and  young  Octavius,  come. 
Revenge  yourselves  alone  on  Cassius, 
For  Cassius  is  aweary  of  the  world ; 
Hated  by  one  he  loves ;  braved  by  his  brother ; 

1  Coin.  *  Split. 


no  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Check'd  like  a  bondman ;  all  his  faults  observed, 

Set  in  a  note-book,  learn'd,  and  conn'd  by  rote, 

To  cast  into  my  teeth.     O,  I  could  weep 

My  spirit  from  mine  eyes !     There  is  my  dagger, 

And  here  my  naked  breast ;   within,  a  heart 

Dearer  than  Plutus'  mine,  richer  than  gold: 

If  that  thou  be'st  a  Roman,  take  it  forth  ; 

I,  that  denied  thee  gold,  will  give  my  heart: 

Strike,  as  thou  didst  at  Caesar;  for,  I  know, 

When  thou   didst  hate  him  worst,  thou  lovedst  him 

better 
Than  ever  thou  lovedst  Cassius. 

Bru.  Sheathe  your  dagger : 

Be  angry  when  you  will,  it  shall  have  scope ; 
Do  what  you  will,  dishonour  shall  be  humour. 
O  Cassius,  you  are  yoked  with  a  lamb 
That  carries  anger  as  the  flint  bears  fire ; 
Who,  much  enforced,  shows  a  hasty  spark, 
And  straight  is  cold  again. 

Cas.  Hath  Cassius  lived 

To  be  but  mirth  and  laughter  to  his  Brutus, 
When  grief,  and  blood  ill-temper'd,  vexeth  him? 

Bru.    When  I  spoke  that,  I  was  ill-temper'd  too. 

Cas.    Do  you  confess  so  much?     Give  me  your 
hand. 

Bru.    And  my  heart  too. 

Cas.  O  Brutus  ! 

Bru.  What  's  the  matter? 

Cas.    Have  not  you  love  enough  to  bear  with  me, 
When  that  rash  humour  which  my  mother  gave  me 
Makes  me  forgetful? 


Julius  Ccesar.  m 

Bru.  Yes,  Cassius ;  and,  from  henceforth, 

When  you  are  over-earnest  with  your  Brutus, 
He  11  think  your  mother  chides,  and  leave  you  so. 

Bru.    O  Cassius,  I  am  sick  of  many  griefs. 
Cas.    Of  your  philosophy  you  make  no  use, 
If  you  give  place  to  accidental  evils. 

Bru.    No    man   bears    sorrow   better.     Portia    is 

dead. 
Cas.    Ha!  Portia! 
Bru.    She  is  dead. 
Cas.    How  'scaped  I  killing  when  I  crossed  you  so  ? 

0  insupportable  and  touching  loss  ! 
Upon  what  sickness  ? 

Bru.  Impatient  of  my  absence. 

And  grief  that  young  Octavius  with  Mark  Antony 
Have  made  themselves   so  strong :  —  for   with    her 

death 
That  tidings  came; — with  this  she  fell  distract, 
And,  her  attendants  absent,  swallow'd  fire. 

Cas.    And  died  so? 

Bru.   Even  so. 

Cas.    O  ye  immortal  gods  ! 

Enter  Lucius,  with  Wine  and  Taper. 

Bru.    Speak  no  more  of  her.     Give  me  a  bowl  of 
wine. 
In  this  I  bury  all  unkindness,  Cassius. 

Cas.    My  heart  is  thirsty  for  that  noble  pledge. 
Fill,  Lucius,  till  the  wine  o'erswell  the  cup ; 

1  cannot  drink  too  much  of  Brutus'  love. 


112  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

OPPORTUNITY     TO'  BE     SEIZED     ON     ALL     OCCASIONS 
OF   LIFE. 

There  is  a  tide  in  the  aflfairs  of  men, 

Which  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune  i 

Omitted,  all  the  voyage  of  their  life 

Is  bound  in  shallows  and  in  miseries. 

On  such  a  full  sea  are  we  now  afloat ; 

And  we  must  take  the  current  when  it  serves, 

Or  lose  our  ventures. 

CiESAR'S    GHOST   APPEARING    TO    BRUTUS. 

How  ill  this  taper  burns  !     Ha  !  who  comes  here  ? 

I  think  it  is  the  weakness  of  mine  eyes 

That  shapes  this  monstrous  apparition. 

It  comes  upon  me.     Art  thou  any  thing? 

Art  thou  some  god,  some  angel,  or  some  devil, 

That  makest  my  blood  cold  and  my  hair  to  stare  ? 

Speak  to  me  what  thou  art. 

Ghost.    Thy  evil  spirit,  Brutus. 

Brutus.  Why  comest  thou  ? 

Ghost.    To  tell  thee  thou  shalt  see  me  at  Philippi. 

Bru.    Well;  then  I  shall  see  thee  again? 

Ghost.  Ay,  at  Philippi. 

Bru.    Why,  I  will  see  thee  at  Philippi,  then. 

\_Exit  Ghost. 
Now  I  have  taken  heart  thou  vanishest : 
111  spirit,  I  would  hold  more  talk  with  thee. 
Boy,  Lucius  !  Varro  !   Claudius !  sirs,  awake  !   Clau- 
dius ! 


Julius  CcBsar,  113 

Lucius.    The  strings,  my  lord,  afe  false. 

Bru.    He  thinks  he  still  is  at  his  instrument. 
LaicIus,  awake  ! 

Luc.    My  lord  ? 

Bru.    Didst    thou    dream,    Lucius,    that  thou   so 
criedst  out? 

Luc.    My  lord,  I  do  not  know  that  I  did  cry. 

Bru.    Yes,  that  thou  didst :    didst  thou   see  any 
thing  ? 

Luc.    Nothing,  my  lord. 

Bru.     Sleep  again,  Lucius.     Sirrah  Claudius  ! 
\To  Varro.'\     Fellow  thou,  awake  ! 

Varro.    My  lord? 

Claudius.    My  lord? 

Bru.    Why  did  you  so  cry  out,  sirs,  in  your  sleep? 

Var.    Clau.    Did  we,  my  lord? 

Bru.  Ay:  saw  you  any  thing? 

Var.    No,  my  lord,  I  saw  nothing. 

Clau.  Nor  I,  my  lord. 

Bru.    Go  and  commend  me  to  my  brother  Cassius  ; 
Bid  him  set  on  his  powers  betimes  before. 
And  we  will  follow. 

Var.    Clau.  It  shall  be  done,  my  lord. 


114  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 


ACT   V. 

THE    PARTING    OF    BRUTUS   AND    CASSIUS. 

Brutus.    No,  Cassius,  no :  think  not,  thou  noble 
Roman, 
That  ever  Brutus  will  go  bound  to  Rome  ; 
He  bears  too  great  a  mind.     But  this  same  day 
Must  end  that  work  the  ides  of  March  begun ; 
And  whether  we  shall  meet  again  I  know  not. 
Therefore  our  everlasting  farewell  take  : 
For  ever,  and  for  ever,  farewell,  Cassius  ! 
If  we  do  meet  again,  why,  we  shall  smile ; 
If  not,  why  then,  this  parting  was  well  made. 

Cassius.    For  ever,  and  for  ever,  farewell,  Brutus  ! 
If  we  do  meet  again,  we  '11  smile  indeed ; 
If  not,  't  is  true  this  parting  was  well  made. 

Bru.    Why,  then,  lead  on.     O,  that  a  man  might 
know 
The  end  of  this  day's  business  ere  it  come ! 
But  it  sufficeth  that  the  day  will  end. 
And  then  the  end  is  known. 

MELANCHOLY,  THE  PARENT  OF  ERROR. 

O  hateful  error,  melancholy's  child. 

Why  dost  thou  show  to  the  apt  thoughts  of  men 

The  things  that  are  not?     O  error,  soon  conceived, 

Thou  never  comest  unto  a  happy  birth. 

But  kill'st  the  mother  that  engender'd  thee  ! 


Julius  Ccesar,  115 

ANTONY'S  CHARACTER  OF  BRUTUS. 

This  was  the  noblest  Roman  of  them  all : 

All  the  conspirators  save  only  he 

Did  that  they  did  in  envy  of  great  Cassar ; 

He  only,  in  a  general  honest  thought 

And  common  good  to  all,  made  one  of  them. 

Kis  life  was  gentle,  and  the  elements 

no  mix'd  in  him,  that  Nature  might  stand  up 

And  say  to  all  the  world  '  This  was  a  man ! ' 


KING  LEAR. 


ACT  I. 

A  father's  anger. 

Let  it  be  so ;  thy  truth,  then,  be  thy  dower: 

For,  by  the  sacred  radiance  of  the  sun, 

The  mysteries  of  Hecate,  and  the  night ; 

By  all  the  operation  of  the  orbs 

From  whom  we  do  exist,  and  cease  to  be ; 

Here  I  disclaim  all  my  paternal  care. 

Propinquity  '  and  property  of  blood. 

And  as  a  stranger  to  my  heart  and  me 

Hold    thee,   from   this,*  for   ever.      The   barbarous 

Scythian, 
Or  he  that  makes  his  generation  ^  messes 
To  gorge  his  appetite,  shall  to  my  bosom 
Be  as  well  neighboured,  pitied,  and  relieved, 
As  thou  my  sometime  daughter. 

BASTARDY. 

Thou,  nature,  art  my  goddess ;  to  thy  law 
My  services  are  bound.     Wherefore  should  I 
Stand  in  the  plague  *  of  custom,  and  permit 

1  Kindred.  *  From  this  time. 

»  His  children.  *  The  injustice. 


King  Lear.  117 

The  curiosity  '  of  nations  to  deprive  me, 

For  that  I  am  some  twelve  or  fourteen  moon-shines 

Lag  of  a  brother  ?     Why  bastard  ?  wherefore  base  ? 

When  my  dimensions  are  as  well  compact, 

My  mind  as  generous,  and  my  shape  as  true. 

As  honest  madam's  issue  ?     Why  brand  they  us 

With  base?  with  baseness?  bastardy?  base,  base? 

Who,  in  the  lusty  stealth  of  nature,  take 

More  composition  and  fierce  quality 

Than  doth,  within  a  dull,  stale,  tired  bed, 

Go  to  the  creating  a  whole  tribe  of  fops, 

Got  'tween  asleep  and  wake? 

ASTROLOGY    RIDICULED. 

This  is  the  excellent  foppery  of  the  world,  that, 
when  we  are  sick  in  fortune,  —  often  the  surfeit  of 
our  own  behaviour,  —  we  make  guilty  of  our  disasters 
the  sun,  the  moon,  and  the  stars :  as  if  we  were 
villains  by  necessity ;  fools  by  heavenly  compulsion  ; 
knaves,  thieves,  and  treachers,^  by  spherical  predomi- 
nance ;  drunkards,  liars,  and  adulterers,  by  an  en- 
forced obedience  of  planetary  influence  ;  and  all  that 
we  are  evil  in,  by  a  divine  thrusting  on  :  an  admirable 
evasion  of  whoremaster  man,  to  lay  his  goatish  dis- 
position to  the  charge  of  a  star !  My  father  com- 
pounded with  my  mother  under  the  dragon's  tail ;  and 
my  nativity  was  under  Ursa  major ;  ^  so  that  it  follows, 
I  am  rough  and  lecherous.     Tut,  I  should  have  been 

1  The  nicety  of  civil  institution.  *  Traitors. 

s  Great  Bear,  the  constellation  so  named. 


ii8  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

that  I  am,  had  the  maidenliest  star  in  the  firmament 
twinkled  on  my  bastardizing. 


FILIAL   INGRATITUDE. 

Ingratitude,  thou  marble-hearted  fiend, 

More  hideous  when  thou  show'st  thee  in  a  child 

Than  the  sea-monster  ! 

A  father's  curse  on  his  child. 

Hear,  nature,  hear; 
Dear  goddess,  hear  !     Suspend  thy  purpose,  if 
Thou  didst  intend  to  make  this  creature  fiaiitfiil ! 
Into  her  womb  convey  sterility  ! 
Dry  up  in  her  the  organs  of  increase  ; 
And  from  her  derogate  ^  body  never  spring 
A  babe  to  honour  her  !     If  she  must  teem, 
Create  her  child  of  spleen  ;  that  it  may  live. 
And  be  a  thwart  disnatured  torment  to  her ! 
Let  it  stamp  wrinkles  in  her  brow  of  youth ; 
With  cadent  ^  tears  fret  channels  in  her  cheeks ; 
Turn  all  her  mother's  pains  and  benefits 
To  laughter  and  contempt ;  that  she  may  feel 
How  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth  it  is 
To  have  a  thankless  child  ! 

»  Degraded.  »  Falling. 


King  Lear.  119 


ACT  II. 

FLATTERING    SYCOPHANTS. 

That  such  a  slave  as  this  should  wear  a  sword, 
Who    wears    no    honesty.     Such  smiling   rogues   as 

these, 
Like  rats,  oft  bite  the  holy  cords  a-twain 
Which    are    too  intrinse  i    t'  unloose ;    smooth  every 

passion 
That  in  the  natures  of  their  lords  rebel ; 
Bring  oil  to  fire,  snow  to  their  colder  moods ; 
Renege, 2  affirm,  and  turn  their  halcyon  3  beaks 
With  every  gale  and  vary  of  their  masters, 
Knowing  nought,  like  dogs,  but  following. 

A   PLAIN    BLUNT    MAN. 

This  is  some  fellow, 
Who,  having  been  praised  for  bluntness,  doth  affect 
A  saucy  roughness,  and  constrains  the  garb 
Quite  from  his  nature :  he  cannot  flatter,  he. 
An  honest  mind  and  plain,  he  must  speak  truth  ! 
An  they  will  take  it,  so ;  if  not,  he  's  plain. 
These  kind  of  knaves  I  know,  which  in   this  plain- 
ness 
Harbour  more  craft  and  more  corrupter  ends 

1  Perplexed.  2  Disown. 

8  The  bird  called  the  king-fisher,  which,  when  dried  and  hung 
np  by  a  thread,  is  supposed  to  turn  his  bill  to  the  point  from 
whence  the  wind  blows. 


120  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Than  twenty  silly  ^  ducking  observants 
That  stretch  their  duties  nicely. 


BEDLAM    BEGGARS. 

Whiles  I  may  'scape, 
I  will  preserve  myself:  and  am  bethought 
To  take  the  basest  and  most  poorest  shape 
That  ever  penury,  in  contempt  of  man, 
Brought  near  to  beast :  my  face  I  '11  grime  with  filth ; 
Blanket  my  loins  ;  elf  ^  all  my  hair  in  knots  ; 
And  with  presented  nakedness  out-face 
The  winds  and  persecutions  of  the  sky. 
The  country  gives  me  proof  and  precedent 
Of  Bedlam  beggars,  who,  with  roaring  voices, 
Strike  in  their  numb'd  and  mortified  bare  arms 
Pins,  wooden  pricks, ^  nails,  sprigs  of  rosemary ; 
And  with  this  horrible  object,  from  low  farms, 
Poor  pelting  villages,  sheep-cotes,  and  mills, 
Sometime  with  lunatic  bans,*  sometime  with  prayers, 
Enforce  their  charity. 

THE   FAULTS    OF    INFIRMITY   PARDONABLE. 

Fiery  ?  the  fiery  duke  ?     Tell  the  hot  duke  that  — • 
No,  but  not  yet :  may  be  he  is  not  well : 
Infirmity  doth  still  neglect  all  office 
Whereto  our  health  is  bound ;  we  are  not  ourselves 

1  Simple  or  rustic. 

2  Hair  thus  knotted  was  supposed  to  be  the  work  of  elves  and 
fairies  in  the  night. 

»  Skewers.  «  Curses. 


King  Lear.  121 

When  nature,  being  oppress'd,  commands  the  mind 

To  suffer  with  the  body  :   I  Ul  forbear ; 

And  am  falPn  out  with  my  more  headier  will, 

To  take  the  indisj)osed  and  sickly  fit 

For  the  sound  man. 

UNKINDNESS. 

Thy  sister  's  naught :   O  Regan,  she  hath  tied 
Sharp-tooth'd  unkindness,  like  a  vulture,  here. 

[Points  to  his  heart. 

OFFENCES    MISTAKLN. 

All 's  not  offence  that  indiscretion  finds 
And  dotage  terms  so. 

RISING  PASSION. 

I  prythee,  daughter,  do  not  make  me  mad : 

I  will  not  trouble  thee,  my  child ;  farewell : 

We  '11  no  more  meet,  no  more  see  one  another  : 

But  yet  thou  art  my  flesh,  my  blood,  my  daughter ; 

Or  rather  a  disease  that 's  in  my  flesh. 

Which  I  must  needs  call  mine :  thou  art  a  boil, 

A  plague-sore,  an  embossed  '  carbuncle, 

In  my  corrupted  blood.     But  I  '11  not  chide  thee ; 

Let  shame  come  when  it  will,  I  do  not  call  it : 

I  do  not  bid  the  thunder-bearer  shoot. 

Nor  tell  tales  of  thee  to  high-judging  Jove. 

*  Swelling. 


122  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


THE   NECESSARIES   OF    LIFE   FEW. 

O,  reason  not  the  need :  our  basest  beggars 
Are  in  the  poorest  thing  superfluous : 
Allow  not  nature  more  than  nature  needs^ 
Man's  life  's  as  cheap  as  beast's. 

LEAR   ON   THE   INGRATITUDE   OF   HIS   DAUGHTERS. 

You  see  me  here,  you  gods,  a  poor  old  man, 

As  full  of  grief  as  age  ;  wretched  in  both  ! 

If  it  be  you  that  stir  these  daughters'  hearts 

Against  their  father,  fool  me  not  so  much 

To  bear  it  tamely ;  touch  me  with  noble  anger. 

And  let  not  women's  weapons,  water-drops. 

Stain  my  man's  cheeks !     No,  you  unnatural  hags, 

I  will  have  such  revenges  on  you  both, 

That  all  the  world  shall  —  I  will  do  such  things,  — 

What  they  are,  yet  I  know  not ;  but  they  shall  be 

The  terrors  of  the  earth.     You  think  I  '11  weep ; 

No,  I  '11  not  weep  : 

I  have  full  cause  of  weeping ;  but  this  heart 

Shall  break  into  a  hundred  thousand  flaws. 

Or  ere  I  '11  weep.     O  fool,  I  shall  go  mad ! 

WILFUL   MEN. 

O,  sir,  to  wilful  men, 
The  injuries  that  they  themselves  procure 
Must  be  their  schoolmasters. 


King  Lear,  123 


ACT  III. 

leak's  distress  in  the  storm. 

Kent.  Where  's  the  king? 

Gentleman.     Contending  with  the  fretful  element ; 
Bids  the  wind  blow  the  earth  into  the  sea, 
Or  swell  the  curled  waters  'bove  the  main, 
That  things  might  change  or  cease ;  tears  his  white 

hair. 
Which  the  impetuous  blasts,  with  eyeless  rage, 
Catch  in  their  fury,  and  make  nothing  of; 
Strives  in  his  little  world  of  man  to  out-scorn 
The  to-and-fro-conflicting  wind  and  rain. 
This    night,    wherein    the    cub-drawn '    bear   would 

couch, 
The  lion  and  the  belly-pinched  wolf 
Keep  their  fur  dry,  unbonneted  he  runs, 
And  bids  what  will  take  all. 


LEAR'S   EXCLAMATIONS    IN   THE   TEMPEST. 

Blow,  winds,  and  crack  your  cheeks  !  rage  !  blow  ! 

You  cataracts  and  hurricanoes,  spout 

Till   you  have  drenched    our  steeples,   drown'd   the 

cocks ! 
You  sulphurous  and  thought-executing  ^  fires. 
Vaunt  couriers  ^  to  oak-cleaving  thunderbolts, 

1  Whose  dugs  are  drawn  dry  by  its  young-. 

•Quick  as  thought.  ^  Avant  couriers,  French. 


124  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Singe    my    white    head!       And   thou,    all-shaking 

thunder, 
Smite  flat  the  thick  rotundity  o'  the  world ! 
Crack  nature's  moulds,  all  germens  spill  at  once, 
That  make  ingrateful  man  ! 

Rumble  thy  bellyful !     Spit,  fire  !  spout,  rain  ! 
Nor  rain,  wind,  thunder,  fire,  are  my  daughters : 
I  tax  not  you,  you  elements,  with  unkindness ; 
I  never  gave  you  kingdom,  call'd  you  children. 
You  owe  me  no  subscription :  ^  then  let  fall 
Your  horrible  pleasure ;  here  I  stand,  your  slave, 
A  poor,  infirm,  weak,  and  despised  old  man : 
But  yet  I  call  you  servile  ministers. 
That  have  with  two  pernicious  daughters  join'd 
Your  high  engender'd  battles  'gainst  a  head 
So  old  and  white  as  this.     O  !  O  !  'tis  foul ! 

Kent.     Alas,  sir,  are  you  here?  things  that  love 
night 
Love  not  such  nights  as  these ;  the  wrathfiil  skies 
Gallow  ^  the  very  wanderers  of  the  dark. 
And  make  them  keep  their  caves :  since  I  was  man, 
Such  sheets  of  fire,  such  bursts  of  horrid  thunder, 
Such  groans  of  roaring  wind  and  rain,  I  never 
Remember  to  have  heard :  man's  nature  cannot  carry 
The  affliction  nor  the  fear. 

Z^ar.  Let  the  great  gods, 

That  keep  this  dreadful  pother  ^  o'er  our  heads, 

*  Obedience.  'Scare  or  frighten.  s  Blustering  noise. 


King  Lear,  125 

Find  out  their  enemies  now.     Tremble,  thou  wretch, 
That  hast  within  thee  undivulged  crimes, 
Unwhipp'd  of  justice :  hide  thee,  thou  bloody  hand ; 
Thou  perjured,  and  thou  simular  ^  man  of  virtue 
That  art  incestuous :  caitiff,  to  pieces  shake, 
That  under  covert  and  convenient  seeming  « 
Hast  practised  on  man's  life :  close  pent-up  guilts, 
Rive  your  concealing  continents,  and  cry 
These  dreadful  summoners  grace. ^     I  am  a  man 
More  sinn'd  against  than  sinning. 

Kent.  Alack,  bare-headed  ! 

Gracious  my  lord,  hard  by  here  is  a  hovel ; 
Some  friendship  will  it  lend  you  'gainst  the  tempest. 

Lear.     Thou  think'st  't  is  much  that  this  conten- 
tious storm 
Invades  us  to  the  skin :  so  't  is  to  thee ; 
But  where  the  greater  malady  is  fix'd, 
The  lesser  is  scarce  felt.     Thou  'Idst  shun  a  bear ; 
But  if  thy  flight  lay  toward  the  raging  sea, 
Thou  'Idst  meet  the  bear  i'  the  mouth.     When  the 

mind  's  free 
The  body  's  delicate :  the  tempest  in  my  mind 
Doth  from  my  senses  take  all  feeling  else 
Save  what  beats  there.     Filial  ingratitude  ! 
Is  it  not  as  this  mouth  should  tear  this  hand 
For  lifting  food  to  't  ?     But  I  will  punish  home  : 
No,  I  will  weep  no  more.     In  such  a  night 
To  shut  me  out !     Pour  on ;  I  will  endure. 

1  Counterfeit.  2  Appearance.  8  Favour. 


.126  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

In  such  a  night  as  this  !     O  Regan,  Goneril ! 
Your  old  kind  father,  whose  frank  heart  gave  all,  — 
O,  that  way  madness  lies ;  let  me  shun  that ; 
No  more  of  that. 

Kent.  Good  my  lord,  enter  here. 

Lear.     Prythee,    go    in    thyself;    seek    thine  own 
ease : 
This  tempest  will  not  give  me  leave  to  ponder 
On  things  would  hurt  me  more.     But  I  '11  go  in. 
\To  the  Fool.']      In,   boy;  go  first.     You  houseless 

poverty,  — 
Nay,  get    thee    in.     I  '11   pray,    and   then  I  '11  sleep. 

[Fool goes  in. 
Poor  naked  wretches,  wheresoe'er  you  are, 
That  bide  the  pelting  of  this  pitiless  storm, 
How  shall  your  houseless  heads  and  unfed  sides, 
Your  loop'd  and  window'd  raggedness,  defend  you 
From  seasons  such  as  these?     0,1  have  ta'en 
Too  little  care  of  this  !     Take  physic,  pomp ; 
Expose  thyself  to  feel  what  wretches  feel. 
That  thou  mayst  shake  the  superflux  to  them, 
And  show  the  heavens  more  just. 

Enter  Edgar,  disguised  as  a  Madman. 

Edgar.     Away  !  the  foul  fiend  follows  me  ! 
Through  the  sharp  hawthorn  blows  the  cold  wind. 
Hum !  go  to  thy  cold  bed,  and  warm  thee. 

Lear.     Hast  thou  given  all  to  thy  two  daughters  ? 
And  art  thou  come  to  this  ? 


King  Lear.  127 

Didst  thou  sfive  them  all? 


Now,  all  the  plagues  that  in  the  pendulous  air 
Hang  fated  o'er  men's  faults  light  on  thy  daughters  ! 

Kent.     He  hath  no  daughters,  sir. 

Lear.     Death,  traitor !  nothing  could  have  subdued 
nature 
To  such  a  lowness  but  his  unkind  daughters. 
Is  it  the  fashion,  that  discarded  fathers 
Should  have  thus  little  mercy  on  their  flesh? 
Judicious  punishment !  't  was  this  flesh  begot 
Those  pelican  daughters. 

ON   MAN. 

Is  man  no  more  than  this?  Consider  him  well. 
Thou  owest  the  worm  no  silk,  the  beast  no  hide,  the 
sheep  no  wool,  the  cat  no  perfume.  Ha !  here  's 
three  on  's  are  sophisticated !  Thou  art  the  thing 
itself:  unaccommodated  man  is  no  more  but  such  a 
poor,  bare,  forked  animal  as  thou  art.  Off",  off",  you 
lendings ! 


ACT  IV. 

THE   JUSTICE   OF   PROVIDENCE. 

That  I  am  wretched 
Makes  thee  the  happier :  heavens,  deal  so  still ! 
Let  the  superfluous  and  lust-dieted  man, 


128  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

That  slaves  your  ordinance,  i  that  will  not  see 
Because  he  doth  not  feel,  feel  your  power  quickly ; 
So  distribution  should  undo  excess, 
And  each  man  have  enough. 

PATIENCE   AND   SORROW. 

Patience  and  sorrow  strove 
Who  should  express  her  goodliest.     You  have  seen 
Sunshine  and  rain  at  once :  her  smiles  and  tears 
Were  like  a  better  way :  those  happy  smilets, 
That  playM  on  her  ripe  lip,  seem'd  not  to  know 
What  guests  were  in  her  eyes ;  which  parted  thence, 
As  pearls  from  diamonds  dropped.     In  brief,  sorrow 
Would  be  a  rarity  most  beloved,  if  all 
Could  so  become  it. 

lear's  distraction  described. 

Alack,  't  is  he :  why,  he  was  met  even  now 
As  mad  as  the  vex'd  sea ;  singing  aloud  ; 
Crown'd  with  rank  fumiter^  and  furrow-weeds. 
With  burdocks,  hemlock,  nettles,  cuckoo-flowers, 
Darnel,  and  all  the  idle  weeds  that  grow 
In  our  sustaining  corn. 

description   of   DOVER   CLIFF. 

Come  on,  sir;  here's  the  place:  stand  still.     How 
fearful 

1  i.e.  To  make  it  subject  to  us,  instead  of  acting  in  obedience 
to  it.  '  Fumitory. 


King  Lear.  129 

And  dizzy  't  is,  to  cast  one's  eyes  so  low ! 
The  crows  and  choughs  ^  that  wing  the  midway  air 
Show  scarce  so  gross  as  beetles  :  half  way  down 
Hangs  one  that  gathers  samphire,^  dreadful  trade ! 
Methinks  he  seems  no  bigger  than  his  head : 
The  fishermen,  that  walk  upon  the  beach, 
Appear  like  mice  ;  and  yond  tall  anchoring  bark, 
Diminished  to  her  cock ;  ^  her  cock,  a  buoy 
Almost  too  small  for  sight :  the  murmuring  surge, 
That  on  the  unnumber'd  idle  pebbles  chafes. 
Cannot  be  heard  so  high.     I  '11  look  no  more  ,* 
Lest  my  brain  turn,  and  the  deficient  sight 
Topple  ^  down  headlong. 


GLOSTER'S    FAREWELL    TO    THE   WORLD. 

O  you  mighty  gods  ! 
This  world  I  do  renounce,  and,  in  your  sights, 
Shake  patiently  my  great  affliction  off: 
If  I  could  bear  it  longer,  and  not  fall 
To  quarrel  with  your  great  opposeless  wills, 
My  snuff  and  loathed  part  of  nature  should 
Burn  itself  out.     If  Edgar  live,  O,  bless  him ! 


LEAR   ON   HIS   FLATTERERS. 

They  flattered  me  like  a  dog ;  and  told  me  I  had 
white  hairs  in  my  beard  ere  the  black  ones  were 
there.     To  say  *ay'  and  'no'  to  everything  that  I 

1  Daws.  «  A  vegetable  gathered  for  pickling. 

» Her  cock-boat.  'Tumble. 


13©  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

said !  —  '  Ay '  and  '  no '  too  was  no  good  divinity. 
When  the  rain  came  to  wet  me  once,  and  the  wind 
to  make  .me  chatter ;  when  the  thunder  would  not 
peace  at  my  bidding;  there  I  found  'em,  there  I 
smelt  'em  out.  Go  to,  they  are  not  men  o'  their 
words:  they  told  me  I  was  everything;  'tis  a  lie, 
I  am  not  ague-proof. 

ON   THE   ABUSE   OF   POWER. 

Thou  rascal  beadle,  hold  thy  bloody  hand ! 

Why  dost  thou  lash  that  whore  ?     Strip  thine  own 

back; 
Thou  hotly  lust'st  to  use  her  in  that  kind 
For  which  thou  whipp'st  her.     The  usurer  hangs  the 

cozener. 
Through  tatter'd  clothes  small  vices  do  appear ; 
Robes  and  furr'd  gowns    hide  all.     Plate  sin  with 

gold. 
And  the  strong  lance  of  justice  hurtless  breaks ; 
Arm  it  in  rags,  a  pigmy's  straw  does  pierce  it. 
None  does  offend,  none,  I  say,  none ;  I  '11  able  'em : 
Take  that  of  me,  my  friend,  who  have  the  power 
To  seal  the  accuser's  lips.     Get  thee  glass  eyes ; 
And,  like  a  scurvy  politician,  seem 
To  see  the  things  thou  dost  not. 

CORDELIA   ON   THE     INGRATITUDE    OF    HER    SISTERS. 

O  my  dear  father  !     Restoration  hang 
Thy  medicine  on  my  lips ;  and  let  this  kiss 


King  Lear.  131 

Repair  those  violent  harms  that  my  two  sisters 
Have  in  thy  reverence  made ! 

Had  you  not  been  their  father,  these  white  flakes 
Had  challenged  pity  of  them.     Was  this  a  face 
To  be  opposed  against  the  warring  winds? 
To  stand  against  the  deep  dread-bolted  thunder? 
In  the  most  terrible  and  nimble  stroke 
Of  quick,  cross  lightning? 

And  wast  thou  fain,  poor  father. 
To  hovel  thee  with  swine,  and  rogues  forlorn. 
In  short  and  musty  straw?     Alack,  alack! 
'T  is  wonder  that  thy  life  and  wits  at  once 
Had  not  concluded  all. 


SCENE  BETWEEN  LEAR  AND  CORDELIA. 

Cordelia.     How  does  my  royal  lord?     How  fares 

your  majesty? 
Lear.     You  do  me  wrong  to  take  me   out  o'  the 
grave  : 
Thou  art  a  soul  in  bliss ;  but  I  am  bound 
Upon  a  wheel  of  fire,  that  mine  own  tears 
Do  scald  like  molten  lead. 

Cor.  Sir,  do  you  know  me? 

Lear.     You  are  a  spirit,  I  know :  when  did  you  die  ? 
Cor.     Still,  still,  far  wide  ! 

Doctor.     He  's  scarce  awake  :  let  him  alone  awhile. 
Lear.     Where  have  I  been  ?     Where  am  I  ?     Fair 
daylight  ? 


132  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

I  am  mightily  abused.    I  should  e'en  die  with  pity, 
To  see  another  thus.     I  know  not  what  to  say. 
I  will  not  swear  these  are  my  hands  :  let 's  see ; 
I  feel  this  pin  prick.     Would  I  were  assured 
Of  my  condition ! 

Cor.  O,  look  upon  me,  sir. 

And  hold  your  hands  in  benediction  o'er  me : 
No,  sir,  you  must  not  kneel. 

Lear.  Pray,  do  not  mock  me : 

I  am  a  very  foolish  fond  old  man. 
Fourscore  and  upward. 

Not  an  hour  more  nor  less ;  and,  to  deal  plainly, 
I  fear  I  am  not  in  my  perfect  mind. 
Methinks  I  should  know  you,  and  know  this  man ; 
Yet  I  am  doubtful :  for  I  am  mainly  ignorant 
What  place  this  is ;  and  all  the  skill  I  have 
Remembers  not  these  garments ;  nor  I  know  not 
Where  I  did  lodge  last  night.      Do  not  laugh  at  me ; 
For,  as  I  am  a  man,  I  think  this  lady 
To  be  my  child  Cordelia. 

Cor.  And  so  I  am,  I  am. 

Lear.    Be  your  tears  wet?     Yes,  'faith.     I  pray, 
weep  not : 
If  you  have  poison  for  me,  I  will  drink  it. 
I  know  you  do  not  love  me ;   for  your  sisters 
Have,  as  I  do  remember,  done  me  wrong : 
You  have  some  cause,  they  have  not. 

Cor.  No  cause,  no  cause. 

Lear.    Am  I  in  France  ? 

Kent.  In  your  own  kingdom,  sir. 

Lear.    Do  not  abuse  me. 


King  Lear.  133 

Doct.    Be  comforted,  good  madam  :  the  great  rage, 
You  see,  is  kill'd  in  him  :   and  yet  it  is  danger 
To  make  him  even  '  o'er  the  time  he  has  lost. 
Desire  him  to  go  in ;   trouble  him  no  more 
Till  further  settling. 

Cor.    Will  't  please  your  highness  walk? 

Lear.  You  must  bear  with  me  : 

Pray  you   now,  forget   and   forgive :    I  am   old   and 

foolish. 


ACT   V. 

LEAR   TO    CORDELIA   WHEN   TAKEN   PRISONERS. 

No,  no,  no,  no  !     Come,  let  's  away  to  prison : 
We  two  alone  will  sing  like  birds  i'  the  cage : 
When  thou  dost  ask  me  blessing,  I  '11  kneel  down, 
And  ask  of  thee  forgiveness  :  so  we  '11  live. 
And  pray,  and  sing,  and  tell  old  tales,  and  laugh 
At  gilded  butterflies,  and  hear  poor  rogues 
Talk  of  court  news  ;  and  we  '11  talk  with  them  too, 
Who  loses  and  who  wins ;  who  's  in,  who  's  out ; 
And  take  upon  's  the  mystery  of  things, 
As  if  we  were  God's  spies  :  and  we  '11  wear  out. 
In  a  wall'd  prison,  packs  and  sects  of  great  ones, 
That  ebb  and  flow  by  the  moon, 

Edmund.  Take  them  away. 

Lear.    Upon  such  sacrifices,  my  Cordelia, 
The  gods  themselves  throw  incense. 

1  To  reconcile  it  to  his  apprehension. 


134  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

THE   JUSTICE   OF    THE    GODS. 

The  gods  are  just,  and  of  our  pleasant  vices 
Make  instruments  to  plague  us. 

EDGAR'S     ACCOUNT     OF     HIS     DISCOVERING     HIMSELF 
TO    HIS   FATHER. 

List '  a  brief  tale  ; 
And  when  't  is  told,  O,  that  my  heart  would  burst ! 
The  bloody  proclamation  to  escape, 
That  follow'd  me  so  near,  —  O,  our  lives'  sweetness ! 
That  we  the  pain  of  death  would  hourly  die 
Rather  than  die  at  once  !  —  taught  me  to  shift 
Into  a  madman's  rags ;  to  assume  a  semblance 
That  very  dogs  disdain'd :   and  in  this  habit 
Met  I  my  father  with  his  bleeding  rings, 
Their  precious  stones  new  lost ;   became  his  guide, 
Led  him,  begg'd  for  him,  saved  him  from  despair; 
Never,  —  O  fault !  —  reveal'd  myself  unto  him, 
Until  some  half-hour  past,  when  I  was  arm'd : 
Not  sure,  though  hoping,  of  this  good  success, 
I  ask'd  his  blessing,  and  from  first  to  last 
Told  him  my  pilgrimage :   but  his  flaw'd  heart, 
Alack,  too  weak  the  conflict  to  support ! 
'Twixt  two  extremes  of  passion,  joy  and  grief. 
Burst  smilingly. 

Edmund.        This  speech  of  yours  hath  moved  me, 
And  shall  perchance  do  good :   but  speak  you  on ; 
You  look  as  you  had  something  more  to  say. 

1  Hear. 


King  Lear.  135 

Albany.    If  there  be  more,  more  woeful,  hold  it  in  ; 
For  I  am  almost  ready  to  dissolve, 
Hearing  of  this. 

Edgar.  This  would  have  seem'd  a  period 

To  such  as  love  not  sorrow ;  but  another, 
To  amplify  too  much,  would  make  much  more, 
And  top  extremity. 

Whilst  I  was  big  in  clamour  came  therein  a  man, 
Who,  having  seen  me  in  my  worst  estate, 
Shunned  my  abhorr'd  society ;  but  then,  finding 
Who  't  was  that  so  endured,  with  his  strong  arms 
He  fastened  on  my  neck,  and  bellow'd  out 
As  he  'Id  burst  heaven ;   threw  him  on  my  father ; 
Told  the  most  piteous  tale  of  Lear  and  him 
That  ever  ear  received :  which  in  recounting 
His  grief  grew  puissant,  and  the  strings  of  life 
Began  to  crack :  twice  then  the  trumpet  sounded, 
And  there  I  left  him  tranced. 


LEAR  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  CORDELIA. 

Howl,  howl,  howl,  howl !    O,  you  are  men  of  stones  : 
Had  I  your  tongues  and  eyes,  I  'Id  use  them  so 
That  heaven's  vault  should  crack.     She  's  gone  for 


ever 


I  know  when  one  is  dead,  and  when  one  lives ; 
She  's  dead  as  earth.     Lend  me  a  looking-glass ; 
If  that  her  breath  will  mist  or  stain  the  stone, 
Why,  then  she  lives. 

This  feather  stirs ;  she  lives !  if  it  be  so, 


136  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

It  is  a  chance  which  does  redeem  all  sorrows 
That  ever  I  have  felt. 

Kent.      [Kneeling.']     O  my  good  master  ! 

Lear.     Pry  thee,  away. 

A  plague  upon  you,  murderers,  traitors  all ! 

I  might  have  saved  her ;  now  she  's  gone  for  ever ! 

Cordelia,  Cordelia  !  stay  a  little.     Ha  ! 

What  is  't  thou  say'st  ?     Her  voice  was  ever  soft, 

Gentle  and  low. 

LEAR    DYING. 

And  my  poor  fool  ^  is  hanged  !     No,  no,  no  life  ! 
Why  should  a  dog,  a  horse,  a  rat,  have  life, 
And  thou  no  breath  at  all?      Thou  'It  come  no  more. 
Never,  never,  never,  never,  never  !• 

1  Poor  fool,  in  the  time  of  Shakspeare,  was  an  expression  of 
endearment. 


MACBETH. 
ACT    I. 

WITCHES    DESCRIBED. 

What  are  these 
So  withered  and  so  wild  in  their  attire, 
That  look  not  like  the  inhabitants  o'  the  earth, 
And  yet  are  on 't  ?     Live  you  ?  or  are  you  aught 
That  man  may  question?     You  seem  to  understand 

me, 
By  each  at  once  her  choppy  finger  laying 
Upon  her  skinny  lips :  you  should  be  women,  - 
And  yet  your  beards  forbid  me  to  interpret 
That  you  are  so. 

macbeth's  temper. 

Yet  do  I  fear  thy  nature ; 
It  is  too  full  o'  the  milk  of  human  kindness 
To  catch  the  nearest  way :  thou  wouldst  be  great ; 
Art  not  without  ambition,  but  without 
The    illness    should   attend   it :    what    thou  wouldst 

highly, 
That  wouldst  thou  holily ;  wouldst  not  play  false, 
And  yet  wouldst  wrongly  win. 


138  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

LADY  MACBETH'S  SOLILOQUY  ON   THE  NEWS  OF  DUN- 
CAN'S  APPROACH. 

The  raven  himself  is  hoarse 
That  croaks  the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan 
Under  my  battlements.     Come,  you  spirits 
That  tend  on  mortal'  thoughts,  unsex  me  here, 
And  fill  me  from  the  crown  to  the  toe  top-full 
Of  direst  cruelty  !  make  thick  my  blood  ; 
Stop  up  the  access  and  passage  to  remorse, ^ 
That  no  compunctious  visitings  of  nature 
Shake  my  fell  purpose,  nor  keep  peace  between 
The  effect  and  it !     Come  to  my  woman's  breasts, 
And  take  my  milk  for  gall,  you  murdering  ministers. 
Wherever  in  your  sightless  substances 
You  wait  on  nature's  mischief!     Come,  thick  night, 
And  pall  ^  thee  in  the  dunnest  smoke  of  hell. 
That  my  keen  knife  *  see  not  the  wound  it  makes, 
Nor  heaven  peep  through  the  blanket  of  the  dark, 
To  cry  ♦  Hold,  hold  ! ' 

macbeth's  irresolution. 

If  it  were  done  when  't  is  done,  then  't  were  well 
It  were  done  quickly:  if  the  assassination 
Could  trammel  up  the  consequence,  and  catch 
With  his  surcease  success ;  that  but  this  blow 
Might  be  the  be-all  and  the  end-all  here. 
But  here,  upon  this  bank  and  shoal  of  time, 

1  Murderous.  2  Pity.  3  Wrap,  as  in  a  mantle. 

*  Knife  anciently  meant  a  sword  or  dagger. 


Macbeth.  139 

We  'Id  jump  the  life  to  come.     But  in  these  cases 
We  still  have  judgment  here ;  that  we  but  teach 
Bloody  instructions,  which,  being  taught,  return 
To  plague  the  inventor :  this  even-handed  justice 
Commends  the  ingredients  of  our  poison'd  chalice 
To  our  own  lips.     He  's  here  in  double  trust ; 
First,  as  I  am  his  kinsman  and  his  subject. 
Strong  both  against  the  deed ;  then,  as  his  host, 
Who  should  against  his  murderer  shut  the  door. 
Not  bear  the  knife  myself.     Besides,  this  Duncan 
Hath  borne  his  faculties  so  meek,  hath  been 
So  clear  in  his  great  office,  that  his  virtues 
Will  plead  like  angels,  trumpet-tongued,  against 
The  deep  damnation  of  his  taking-off; 
And  pity,  like  a  naked  new-born  babe, 
Striding  the  blast,  or  heaven's  cherubim,  horsed 
Upon  the  sightless  couriers  *  of  the  air. 
Shall  blow  the  horrid  deed  in  every  eye. 
That  tears  shall  drown  the  wind.     I  have  no  spur 
To  prick  the  sides  of  my  intent,  but  only 
Vaulting  ambition,  which  overleaps  itself 
And  falls  on  the  other. 


TRUE   FORTITUDE. 

I  dare  do  all  that  may  become  a  man ; 
Who  dares  do  more  is  none. 

1  Winds ;  sightless  is  invisible. 


140  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 


ACT  II. 

THE   MURDERING    SCENE. 

Is  this  a  dagger  which  I  see  before  me, 

The  handle  toward  my  hand?     Come,  let  me  clutch 

thee. 
I  have  thee  not,  and  yet  I  see  thee  still. 
Art  thou  not,  fatal  vision,  sensible 
To  feeling  as  to  sight  ?  or  art  thou  but 
A  dagger  of  the  mind,  a  false  creation. 
Proceeding  from  the  heat-oppressed  brain? 
I  see  thee  yet,  in  form  as  palpable 
As  this  which  now  I  draw. 
Thou  marshairst  me  the  way  that  I  was  going ; 
And  such  an  instrument  I  was  to  use. 
Mine  eyes  are  made  the  fools  o'  the  other  senses. 
Or  else  worth  all  the  rest ;  I  see  thee  still, 
And  on  thy  blade  and  dudgeon^  gouts  ^  of  blood, 
Which  was  not  so  before.     There  's  no  such  thing : 
It  is  the  bloody  business  which  informs 
Thus  to  mine  eyes.     Now  o'er  the  one  half-world 
Nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked  dreams  abuse 
The  curtained  sleep ;  witchcraft  celebrates 
Pale  Hecate's  offerings,  and  withered  murder, 
Alarum'd  by  his  sentinel,  the  wolf, 
Whose  howl 's  his  watch,  thus  with  his  stealthy  pace. 
With  Tarquin's  ravishing  strides,  towards  his  design 
Moves  like  a  ghost.     Thou  sure  and  firm-set  earth, 

iHaft.        .  a  Drops. 


Macbeth,  141 

Hear  not  my  steps,  which  way  they  walk,  for  fear 
Thy  very  stones  prate  of  my  whereabout. 
And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time, 
Which  now  suits  with  it.     Whiles  I  threat,  he  lives : 
Words  to  the  heat  of  deeds  too  cold  breath  gives. 

[_A  bell  rings. 
I  go,  and  it  is  done ;  the  bell  invites  me. 
Hear  it  not,  Duncan ;  for  it  is  a  knell 
That  summons  thee  to  heaven  or  to  hell.      \_Exit. 
Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  Macbeth.   That  which  hath  made  them  drunk 
hath  made  me  bold ; 
What    hath    quench'd    them    hath   given   me   fire. 

Hark  !     Peace  ! 
It  was  the  owl  that  shriek'd,  the  fatal  bellman, 
Which  gives  the  stern'st  good-night.    He  is  about  it : 
The  doors  are  open ;   and  the  surfeited  grooms 
Do  mock  their  charge  with   snores :   I   have   drugg'd 

their  possets. 
That  death  and  nature  do  contend  about  them. 
Whether  they  live  or  die. 

Macbeth,     \}Vithin.'\     Who's  there?     What,  ho ! 

Lady  M.    Alack  !  I  am  afraid  they  have  awaked. 
And  't  is  not  done.     The  attempt  and  not  the  deed 
Confounds  us.     Hark  !  I  laid  their  daggers  ready ; 
He  could  not  miss  'em.     Had  he  not  resembled 
My  father  as  he  slept,  I  had  done  't. 
Enter  Macbeth. 

My  husband ! 

Macb.     I  have  done  the  deed.      Didst  thou  not 
hear  a  noise  ? 


142  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Lady  M.    I  heard  the  owl  scream  and  the  crickets 
cry. 
Did  not  you  speak? 

Macb.  When  ? 

Lady  M.  Now. 

Macb.  As  I  descended? 

Lady  M.    Ay. 

Macb.    Hark! 
Who  lies  i'  the  second  chamber? 

Z^dy  M.  Donalbain. 

Macb.    This  is  a  sorry  sight. 

\Looking  on  his  hands. 

Lady  M.    A  foolish  thought,  to  say  a  sorry  sight. 

Macb.    There  's  one  did  laugh  in  's  sleep,  and  one 
cried  '  Murder ! ' 
That  they  did  wake  each  other :   I   stood  and  heard 

them : 
But  they  did  say  their  prayers,  and  address'd  them 
Again  to  sleep. 

Lady  M.  There  are  two  lodged  together. 

Macb.     One  cried  '  God  bless  us  ! '  and  '  Amen  ' 
the  other ; 
As  '  they  had  seen  me  with  these  hangman's  hands. 
Listening  their  fear,  I  could  not  say  *  Amen,' 
When  they  did  say  '  God  bless  us  ! ' 

Lady  M.  Consider  it  not  so  deeply. 

Macb.    But    wherefore    could    not    I    pronounce 
Amen'? 
I  had  most  need  of  blessing,  and  *  Amen ' 
Stuck  in  my  throat. 

1  As  if. 


Macbeth,  143 

Lady  M.  These  deeds  must  not  be  thought 

After  these  ways ;  so,  it  will  make  us  mad. 

Macb.    Methought  I  heard  a  voice  cry  '  Sleep  no 
more  ! 
Macbeth  does  murder  sleep,'  the  innocent  sleep, 
Sleep  that  knits  up  the  ravell'd  sleave  *  of  care. 
The  death  of  each  day's  life,  sore  labour's  bath, 
Balm  of  hurt  minds,  great  nature's  second  course. 
Chief  nourisher  in  life's  feast,  — 

Lady  M.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Macb.    Still  it  cried  '  Sleep  no  more  ! '  to  all  the 
house : 
•  Glamis  hath  murder'd  sleep,  and  therefore  Cawdor 
Shall  sleep  no  more  ;    Macbeth  shall  sleep  no  more  ! ' 

Lady  M.    Who   was  it  that    thus    cried  ?      Why, 
worthy  thane, 
You  do  unbend  your  noble  strength,  to  think 
So  brainsickly  of  things.     Go  get  some  water. 
And  wash  this  filthy  witness  from  your  hand. 
Why  did  you  bring  these  daggers  from  the  place  ? 
They  must  lie  there  :  go  carry  them  ;  and  smear 
The  sleepy  grooms  with  blood. 

Macb.  I  'II  go  no  more  : 

I  am  afraid  to  think  what  I  have  done ; 
Look  on  't  again  I  dare  not. 

Lady  M.  Infirm  of  purpose  ! 

Give  me  the  daggers  :   the  sleeping  and  the  dead 
Are  but  as  pictures  :   't  is  the  eye  of  childhood 
That  fears  a  painted  devil.     If  he  do  bleed, 

1  Sleave  is  unwrought  silk. 


144  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

I  '11  gild  the  faces  of  the  grooms  withal ; 
For  it  must  seem  their  guilt. 

\_Exit .     Knocking  within . 

Macb.  Whence  is  that  knocking? 

How  is  't  with  me,  when  every  noise  appals  me? 
What  hands  are  here?     Ha!    they  pluck  out  mine 

eyes. 
Will  all  great  Neptune's  ocean  wash  this  blood 
Clean  from  my  hand?     No,  this  my  hand  will  rather 
The  multitudinous  seas  incarnardine,i 
Making  the  green  one  red. 

Re-enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  M.    My  hands  are  of  your  colour;    but   I 
shame 
To  wear  a  heart  so  white.      \Knockitig  within. '\     I 

hear  a  knocking 
At  the  south  entry :  retire  we  to  our  chamber : 
A  little  water  clears  us  of  this  deed : 
How  easy  is  it,  then  !     Your  constancy 
Hath    left    you    unattended.       {Knocking  within. '\ 

Hark  !  more  knocking. 
Get  on  your  nightgown,  lest  occasion  call  us, 
And  show  us  to  be  watchers.     Be  not  lost 
So  poorly  in  your  thoughts. 

Macb.     To  know  my  deed,  't  were  best  not  know 

myself.  \Knocking  within . 

Wake    Duncan  with   thy  knocking!     I  would   thou 

couldst ! 

1  To  incarnardine  is  to  stain  of  a  flesh  colour. 


Macbeth,  14S 


ACT   III. 
macbeth's    guilty    conscience,   and    fears    of 

BANQUO. 

Lady  Macbeth.     How  now,  my  Lord  !  why  do  you 
keep  alone. 
Of  sorriest^  fancies  your  companions  making. 
Using  those  thoughts  which  should  indeed  have  died 
With   them    they   think    on?      Things   without    all 

remedy 
Should  be  without  regard :  what 's  done  is  done. 

Macbeth.     We  have  scotch'd  the  snake,  not  kilPd 
it: 
She  '11  close  and  be  herself,  whilst  our  poor  malice 
Remains  in  danger  of  her  former  tooth. 
But  let  the  frame  of  things  disjoint,  both  the  worlds 

suffer, 
Ere  we  will  eat  our  meal  in  fear  and  sleep 
In  the  affliction  of  these  terrible  dreams 
That  shake  us  nightly :  better  be  with  the  dead. 
Whom  we,  to  gain  our  peace,  have  sent  to  peace, 
Than  on  the  torture  of  the  mind  to  lie 
In  restless  ecstasy.^     Duncan  is  in  his  grave ; 
After  life's  fitful  fever  he  sleeps  well ; 
Treason  has  done  his  worst :  nor  steel,  nor  poison, 
Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy,  nothing, 
Can  touch  him  further. 

1  Most  melancholy.  *  Agony. 


146  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

O,  full  of  scorpions  is  my  mind,  dear  wife  ! 

Thou  know'st  that  Banquo,  and  his  Fleance,  lives. 

Lady  M.     But  in  them  nature's  copy  ""s  not  eterne.* 

Macb.     There  's  comfort  yet ;  they  are  assailable  ; 
Then  be  thou  jocund :  ere  the  bat  hath  flown 
His  cloisterM  flight,  ere  to  black  Hecate's  summons 
The  shard-borne  beetle  ^  with  his  drowsy  hums 
Hath  rung  nighfs  yawning  peal,  there  shall  be  done 
A  deed  of  dreadful  note. 

Lady  M.  What 's  to  be  done  ? 

Macb.     Be    innocent    of  the  knowledge,    dearest 
chuck,  3 
Till  thou  applaud  the  deed.     Come,  seeling  *  night, 
Scarf  up  the  tender  eye  of  pitiful  day ; 
And  with  thy  bloody  and  invisible  hand 
Cancel  and  tear  to  pieces  that  great  bond 
Which   keeps    me  pale !     Light  thickens ;   and   the 

crow 
Makes  wing  to  the  rooky  wood  : 
Good  things  of  day  begin  to  droop  and  drowse ; 
Whiles  night's  black  agents  to  their  preys  do  rouse. 


THE   BANQUET   SCENE. 

Lady  Macbeth.  My  royal  lord, 

You  do  not  give  the  cheer :  the  feast  is  sold 
That  is  not  often  vouch'd,  while  't  is  a-making, 

1  i.e.  The  copy,  the  lease,  by  which  they  hold  their  lives  from 
flature,  has  its  time  termination. 

s  The  beetle  borne  in  the  air  by  its  shards  or  scaly  wings. 
«  A  term  of  endearment.  «  Blinding. 


Macbeth.  147 

'T  is  given  with  welcome  :  to  feed  were  best  at  home  ; 
From  thence  the  sauce- to  meat  is  ceremony; 
Meeting  were  bare  without  it. 

Macbeth.  Sweet  remembrancer  ! 

Now,  good  digestion  wait  on  appetite, 
And  health  on  both  ! 

Lennox.  May  't  please  your  highness  sit. 

\The  Ghost  of  Banquo  enters,  and  sits  in  Macbeth'' s 
place. ^^ 

Macb.     Here  had  we  now  our  country's  honour 
roof'd. 
Were  the  graced  person  of  our  Banquo  present ; 
Who  may  I  rather  challenge  for  unkindness 
Than  pity  for  mischance  ! 

Ross.  His  absence,  sir, 

Lays  blame  upon  his  promise.     Please  't  your  high- 
ness 
To  grace  us  with  your  royal  company. 

Macb.     The  table  's  full. 

Len.  Here  's  a  place  reserved,  sir. 

Macb.     Where? 

Len.     Here,  my  good  lord.    What  is  't  that  moves 
your  highness? 

Macb.     Which  of  you  have  done  this? 

Lords.  What,  my  good  lord? 

Macb.     Thou  canst  not  say  I  did  it :  never  shake 
Thy  gory  locks  at  me. 

Ross.     Gentlemen,  rise :  his  highness  is  not  well. 

Lady  M.     Sit,  worthy  friends :  my  lord  is  often 
thus, 


148  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

And  hath  been  from  his  youth :  pray  you,  keep  seat ; 
The  fit  is  momentary ;  upon  a  thought  1 
He  will  again  be  well :  if  much  you  note  him, 
You  shall  offend  him  and  extend  his  passion :  2 
Feed,  and  regard  him  not.     Are  you  a  man? 

Macb.     Ay,  and  a  bold  one,  that  dare  look  on  that 
Which  might  appal  the  devil. 

Lady  M.  O  proper  stuff ! 

This  is  the  very  painting  of  your  fear: 
This  is  the  air-drawn  dagger  which,  you  said, 
Led  you  to  Duncan.     O,  these  flaws  ^  and  starts, 
Impostors  to  true  fear,  would  well  become 
A  woman's  story  at  a  winter's  fire. 
Authorized  by  her  grandam.     Shame  itself! 
Why  do  you  make  such  faces?     When  all  's  done, 
You  look  but  on  a  stool. 

Macb.     Prythee,  see  there  !  behold  !  look  !  lo  !  how 
say  you? 
Why,  what  care  I  ?     If  thou  canst  nod,  speak  too. 
If  charnel-houses  and  our  graves  must  send 
Those  that  we  bury  back,  our  monuments 
Shall  be  the  maws  of  kites.  \Ghost  vanishes. 

Lady  M.  What,  quite  unmann'd  in  folly? 

Macb.     If  I  stand  here,  I  saw  him. 

iMdy  M.  Fie,  for  shame  ! 

Macb.     Blood  hath  been  shed  ere  now,  i'  the  olden 
time, 
Ere  humane  statute  purged  the  gentle  weal ; 
Ay,  and  since  too,  murders  have  been  performed 

1  As  quick  as  thought.  2  Prolong  his  suffering. 

•  Sudden  gusts. 


Macbeth.  149 

Too  terrible  for  the  ear :  the  time  has  been, 
That,  when  the  brains  were  out,  the  man  would  die. 
And  there  an  end ;  but  now  they  rise  again, 
With  twenty  mortal  murders  on  their  crowns, 
And  push  us  from  our  stools :  this  is  more  strange 
Than  such  a  murder  is. 

Lady  M.  My  worthy  lord. 

Your  noble  friends  do  lack  you. 

Macb.  I  do  forget. 

Do  not  muse  ^  at  me,  my  most  worthy  friends ; 
I  have  a  strange  infirmity,  which  is  nothing 
To  those  that  know  me.     Come,  love  and  health  to 

all; 
Then  I  '11  sit  down.     Give  me  some  wine ;  fill  full. 
I  drink  to  the  general  joy  o'  the  whole  table, 
And  to  our  dear  friend  Banquo,  whom  we  miss ; 
Would  he  were  here !  to  all,  and  him,  we  thirst. 
And  all  to  all.^ 

Lords.  Our  duties,  and  the  pledge. 

[Re-enter  Ghost. 

Macb.     Avaunt !  and  quit  my  sight !  Let  the  earth 
hide  thee ! 
Thy  bones  are  marrowless,  thy  blood  is  cold ; 
Thou  hast  no  speculation  in  those  eyes 
Which  thou  dost  glare  with  ! 

Lady  M.  Think  of  this,  good  peers, 

But  as  a  thing  of  custom  :  't  is  no  other ; 
Only  it  spoils  the  pleasure  of  the  time. 

Macb.    What  man  dare,  I  dare  : 

1  Wonder.  *  i.e.  All  good  wishes  to  all. 


ISO  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Approach  thou  like  the  rugged  Russian  bear, 
The  arm'd  rhinoceros,  or  the  Hyrcan  tiger; 
Take  any  shape  but  that,  and  my  firm  nerves 
Shall  never  tremble  :  or  be  alive  again, 
And  dare  me  to  the  desert  with  thy  sword ; 
If  trembling  I  inhabit  *  then,  protest  me 
The  baby  of  a  girl.     Hence,  horrible  shadow  ! 
Unreal  mockery,  hence  !  \_Ghost  vanishes. 

Why,  so  :  being  gone, 
I  am  a  man  again.     Pray  you,  sit  still. 

Lady  M.     You  have  displaced  the  mirth,  broke  the 
good  meeting. 
With  most  admired  disorder. 

Macb.  Can  such  things  be. 

And  overcome  ^  us  like  a  Summers's  cloud. 
Without  our  special  wonder?     You  make  me  strange 
Even  to  the  disposition  that  I  owe, 3 
Whei  now  I  think  you  can  behold  such  sights. 
And  keep  the  natural  ruby  of  your  cheeks. 
When  mine  is  blanched  with  fear. 

Ross.  Wha   sights,  my  lord? 

Lady  M.     I  pray  you,  speak  not ;  he  grows  worse 
and  worse ; 
Question  enrages  him.     At  once,  good  night: 
Stand  not  upon  the  order  of  your  going. 
But  go  at  once. 

Len.  Good  night;  and  better  health 

Attend  his  majesty ! 

Lady  M.  A  kind  good  night  to  all ! 

\_Exeunt  all  but  Macbeth  and  Lady  M. 

1  Forbid,  'Passover.  8  Possess. 


Macbeth,  .  151 

Macb.     It  will  have  blood;  they  say,  blood  will 
have  blood : 
Stones  have  been  known  to  move  and  trees  to  speak  ; 
Augurs  and  understood  relations  have 
By  magot-pies  ^  and  choughs  and  rooks  brought  forth 
The  secret'st  man  of  blood. 


ACT    IV. 

THE    POWER    OF   WITCHES. 

I  conjure  you,  by  that  which  you  profess. 
However  you  come  to  know  it,  answer  me  : 
Though  you  untie  the  winds  and  let  them  fight 
Against  the  churches ;  though  the  yesty  2  waves 
Confound  and  swallow  navigation  up  ; 
Though   bladed   corn  be   lodged  3  and   trees   blown 

down; 
Though  castles  topple  ^  on  their  warders'  heads  ; 
Though  palaces  and  pyramids  do  slope 
Their  heads  to  their  foundations  ;  though  the  treasure 
Of  nature's  germens  ^  tumble  all  together, 
Even  till  destruction  sicken ;  answer  me 
To  what  I  ask  you. 

MALCOLM'S   CHARACTER    OF    HIMSELF. 

Malcolm.     But  I  have  none :    the  king-becoming 
graces, 

1  Magpies.  «  Frothy.  8  Laid  flat  by  wind  or  rain. 

*  Tumble.  ^  Seeds  which  have  begun  to  sprout. 


152  ,  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

As  justice,  verity,  temperance,  stableness, 

Bounty,  perseverance,  mercy,  lowliness, 

Devotion,  patience,  courage,  fortitude, 

I  have  no  relish  of  them,  but  abound 

In  the  division  of  each  several  crime, 

Acting  it  many  ways.     Nay,  had  I  power,  I  should 

Pour  the  sweet  milk  of  concord  into  hell. 

Uproar  the  universal  peace,  confound 

All  unity  on  earth. 

Macduff.  O  Scotland,  Scotland  ! 

Mai.     If  such  a  one  be  fit  to  govern,  speak : 
I  am  as  I  have  spoken. 

Macd.  Fit  to  govern  ! 

No,  not  to  live.     O  nation  miserable, 
With  an  untitled  tyrant  bloody-sceptred. 
When  shalt  thou  see  thy  wholesome  days  again. 
Since  that  the  truest  issue  of  thy  throne 
By  his  own  interdiction  stands  accursed. 
And  does  blaspheme  his  breed?     Thy  royal  father 
Was  a  most  sainted  king :  the  queen  that  bore  thee, 
Oftener  upon  her  knees  than  on  her  feet. 
Died  every  day  she  lived.     Fare  thee  well ! 
These  evils  thou  repeat'st  upon  thyself 
Have  banishM  me  from  Scotland.     O  my  breast, 
Thy  hope  ends  here  ! 

Mai.  Macduff,  this  noble  passion, 

Child  of  integrity,  hath  from  my  soul 
Wiped  the  black  scruples,  reconciled  my  thoughts 
To  thy  good  truth  and  honour.     Devilish  Macbeth 
By  many  of  these  trains  hath  sought  to  win  me 
Into  his  power,  and  modest  wisdom  plucks  me 


Macbeth,  153 

From  over-credulous  haste :  *  But  God  above 

Deal  between  thee  and  me !  for  even  now 

I  put  myself  to  thy  direction,  and 

Unspeak  mine  own  detraction,  here  abjure 

The  taints  and  blames  I  laid  upon  myself, 

For  strangers  to  my  nature.     I  am  yet 

Unknown  to  woman,  never  was  forsworn. 

Scarcely  have  coveted  what  was  mine  own. 

At  no  time  broke  my  faith,  would  not  betray 

The  devil  to  his  fellow,  and  delight 

No  less  in  truth  than  life :  my  first  false  speaking 

Was  this  upon  myself:  what  I  am  truly, 

Is  thine  and  my  poor  country's  to  command. 


AN   OPPRESSED   COUNTRY. 

Alas,  poor  country ! 
Almost  afraid  to  know  itself.     It  cannot 
Be  caird  our  mother,  but  our  grave  ;  where  nothing, 
But  who  knows  nothing,  is  once  seen  to  smile ; 
Where  sighs  and  groans  and  shrieks  that  rend  the 

air 
Are  made,  not  mark'd  ;  where  violent  sorrow  seems 
A  modern  ecstasy  :^^  the  dead  man's  knell 
Is  there  scarce  ask'd  for  who ;  and  good  men's  lives 
Expire  before  the  flowers  in  their  caps. 
Dying  or  ere  they  sicken. 

1  Over-hasty  credulity.  2  Common  distress  of  mind. 


154  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Macduff's  behaviour  on  the  murder  of  his 
wife  and  children. 

Ross.  Would  I  could  answer 

This  comfort  with  the  like  !  but  I  have  words 
That  would  be  howPd  out  in  the  desert  air, 
Where  hearing  should  not  latch  ^  them. 

Macduff.  What  concern  they? 

The  general  cause?  or  is  it  a  fee-grief  2 
Due  to  some  single  breast? 

Ross.  No  mind  that  's  honest 

But  in  it  shares  some  woe  ;  though  the  main  part 
Pertains  to  you  alone. 

Macd.  If  it  be  mine, 

Keep  it  not  from  me,  quickly  let  me  have  it. 

Ross.     Let  not  your  ears    despise  my  tongue  for 
ever, 
Which  shall  possess  them  with  the  heaviest  sound 
That  ever  yet  they  heard. 

Macd.  Hum!  I  guess  at  it. 

Ross.     Your  castle   is  surprised  ;  your  wife    and 
babes 
Savagely  slaughtered  :  to  relate  the  manner. 
Were,  on  the  quarry  3  of  these  murdered  deer. 
To  add  the  death  of  you. 

Malcolm.  Merciful  heaven! 

What,  man  !  ne'er  pull  your  hat  upon  your  brows  ; 
Give  sorrow  words :  the  grief  that  does  not  speak 
Whispers  the  o'er-fraught  heart  and  bids  it  break. 

1  Catch.  *  A  fi^rief  that  has  a  single  owner. 

8  The  game  after  it  is  killed. 


Macbeth,  155 

Macd-     My  children  too? 

Ross.  Wife,  children,  servants,  all 

That  could  be  found. 

Macd.  And  I  must  be  from  thence  ! 

My  wife  kill'd  too  ? 

Ross.  I  have  said. 

Mai.  Be  comforted  : 

Let  's  make  us  medicines  of  our  great  revenge, 
To  cure  this  deadly  grief. 

Macd.     He  has  no  children.     All  my  pretty  ones? 
Did  you  say  all?     O  hell-kite  !     All? 
What,  all  my  pretty  chickens  and  their  dam 
At  one  fell  swoop? 
"    Mai.     Dispute  it  like  a  man. 

Macd.  I  shall  do  so ; 

But  I  must  also  feel  it  as  a  man : 
I  cannot  but  remember  such  things  were. 
That  were  most  precious  to  me.    Did  heaven  look  on, 
And  would  not  take  their  part  ?     Sinful  Macduff, 
They  were  all  struck  for  thee  !  naught  that  I  am. 
Not  for  their  own  demerits,  but  for  mine. 
Fell  slaughter  on  their  souls.   Heaven  rest  them  now  ! 

Mai.     Be  this  the  whetstone  of  your  sword  :   let 
grief 
Convert  to  anger ;   blunt  not  the  heart,  enrage  it. 

Macd.     O,   I    could    play    the   woman  with   mine 
eyes 
And  braggart  with  my  tongue  !  But,  gentle  heavens. 
Cut  short  all  intermission ;  ^  front  to  front 
Bring  thou  this  fiend  of  Scotland  and  myself; 

1  All  pause. 


156  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Within  my  sword's  length  set  him ;  if  he  'scape, 
Heaven  forgive  him  too  ! 

Mai.  This  tune  goes  manly. 

Come,  go  we  to  the  king ;  our  power  is  ready ; 
Our  lack  is  nothing  but  our  leave  :  Macbeth 
Is  ripe  for  shaking,  and  the  powers  above 
Put  on  their  instruments.     Receive  what  cheer  you 

may: 
The  night  is  long  that  never  finds  the  day. 


ACT  V. 

A   GUILTY  CONSCIENCE. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth,  with  a  Taper. 

Gentlewoman.  Lo  you,  here  she  comes !  This 
is  her  very  guise ;  and,  upon  my  life,  fast  asleep. 
Observe  her;  stand  close. 

Doctor.     How  came  she  by  that  light? 

Gent.  Why,  it  stood  by  her:  she  has  light  by 
her  continually;  't  is  her  command. 

Doct.     You  see,  her  eyes  are  open. 

Gent.     Ay,  but  their  sense  is  shut. 

Doct.  What  is  it  she  does  now?  Look,  how  she 
rubs  her  hands. 

Gent.  It  is  an  accustomed  action  with  her,  to 
seem  thus  washing  her  hands :  I  have  known  her 
continue  in  this  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Lady  Macbeth.     Yet  here  's  a  spot. 

Doct.     Hark  !  she  speaks :   I  will  set  down  what 


Macbeth.  157 

comes  from  her,  to  satisfy  my  remembrance  the  more 
strongly. 

Lady  M.  Out  damned  spot !  out,  I  say  !  —  One  : 
Two  :  Why,  then  't  is  time  to  do 't. —  Hell  is  murky  ! ' 

—  Fie,  my  lord,  fie!  a  soldier,  and  afeard?  What 
need  we  fear  who  knows  it,  when  none  can  call  our 
power  to  account  ?  —  Yet  who  would  have  thought 
the  old  man  to  have  had  so  much  blood  in  him? 

Doct.     Do  you  mark  that  ? 

Lady  M.  The  thane  of  Fife  had  a  wife :  where  is 
she  now?  —  What,  will  these  hands  ne'er  be  clean  ? 

—  No  more  o'  that,  my  lord,  no  more  o'  that :  you 
mar  all  with  this  starting. 

Doct.  Go  to,  go  to ;  you  have  known  what  you 
should  not. 

Gent.  She  has  spoke  what  she  should  not,  I  am 
sure  of  that :   heaven  knows  what  she  has  known. 

Lady  M.  Here  's  the  smell  of  the  blood  still :  all 
the  perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little 
hand.     Oh,  oh,  oh  ! 

Doct.  What  a  sigh  is  there !  The  heart  is  sorely 
charged. 

Ge7it.  I  would  not  have  such  a  heart  in  my 
bosom  for  the  dignity  of  the  whole  body. 

Doct.     Well,  well,  well,— 

Gent.     Pray  God  it  be,  sir, 

Doct.  This  disease  is  beyond  my  practice :  yet  I 
have  known  those  which  have  walked  in  their  sleep 
who  have  died  holily  in  their  beds. 

1  Dark. 


158  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Lady  M.  Wash  your  hands,  put  on  your  night- 
gown ;  look  not  so  pale.  —  I  tell  you  yet  again, 
Banquo  's  buried ;  he  cannot  come  out  on  's  grave. 

Doct.    Even  so? 

Lady  M.  To  bed,  to  bed  !  there 's  knocking  at  the 
gate :  come,  come,  come,  come,  give  me  your  hand. 

What 's  done  cannot  be  undone To  bed,  to  bed, 

to  bed  ! 

DESPISED   OLD   AGE. 

L  have  lived  long  enough  :  my  way  of  life 

Is  fall'n  into  the  sear,'  the  yellow  leaf; 

And  that  which  should  accompany  old  age, 

As  honour,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends, 

I  must  not  look  to  have ;  but,  in  their  stead, 

Curses,  not  loud  but  deep,  mouth-honour,  breath, 

Which  the  poor  heart  would  fain  deny,  and  dare  not. 


DISEASES    OF   THE   MIND   INCURABLE. 

Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased. 
Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow. 
Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain. 
And  with  some  sweet  oblivious  antidote 
Cleanse  the  stuff  M  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff 
Which  weighs  upon  the  heart? 

»Drjr. 


Macbeth,  159 


REFLECTIONS   ON   LIFE. 

To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 

Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day 

To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time, 

And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 

The  way  to  dusty  death.     Out,  out,  brief  candle  ! 

Life  's  but  a  walking  shadow,  a  poor  player 

That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage 

And  then  is  heard  no  more :  it  is  a  tale 

Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury. 

Signifying  nothing. 


OTHELLO. 
ACT   L 

PREFERMENT. 

'T  is  the  curse  of  service, 
Preferment  goes  by  letter  and  affection, 
And  not  by  old  gradation,  where  each  second 
Stood  heir  to  the  first. 

lAGO'S   DISPRAISE   OF   HONESTY. 

We  cannot  all  be  masters,  nor  all  masters 
Cannot  be  truly  follow^.     You  shall  mark 
Many  a  duteous  and  knee-crooking  knave, 
That,  doting  on  his  own  obsequious  bondage. 
Wears  out  his  time,  much  like  his  master's  ass, 
For   nought    but    provender,    and   when   he  's  old, 

cashier'd : 
Whip  me  such  honest  knaves.     Others  there  are 
Who,  trimm'd  in  forms  and  visages  of  duty, 
Keep  yet  their  hearts  attending  on  themselves. 
And,  throwing  but  shows  of  service  on  their  lords, 
Do  well  thrive  by  them  and  when  they  have  lined  their 

coats 
Do   themselves   homage:    these  fellows  have  some 

soul} 


Othello.  i6i 

And  such  a  one  do  I  profess  myself. 

For,  sir, 

It  is  as  sure  as  you  are  Roderigo, 

Were  I  the  Moor,  I  would  not  be  lago : 

In  following  him,  I  follow  but  myself; 

Heaven  is  my  judge,  not  I  for  love  and  duty, 

But  seeming  ao,  for  my  peculiar  end : 

For  when  my  outward  action  doth  demonstrate 

The  native  act  and  figure  of  my  heart 

In  compliment  extern,^  't  is  not  long  after 

But  I  will  wear  my  heart  upon  my  sleeve 

For  daws  to  peck  at :  I  am  not  what  I  am. 


LOVE,    OTHELLO'S    SOLE   MOTIVE   FOR    MARRYING. 

For  know,  lago, 
But  that  I  love  the  gentle  Desdemona, 
I  would  not  my  unhoused  ^  free  condition 
Put  into  circumscription  and  confine 
For  the  sea's  worth. 


OTHELLO  S   DESCRIPTION    TO     THE     SENATE    OF     HIS 
WINNING    THE   AFFECTIONS    OF    DESDEMONA. 

Most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  signiors. 
My  very  noble  and  approved  good  masters, 
That  I  have  ta'en  away  this  old  man's  daughter, 
It  is  most  true ;  true,  I  have  married  her : 
The  very  head  and  front  of  my  offending 

1  Outward  show  of  civility.  «  Unsettled. 


x62  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Hath    this    extent,    no    more.     Rude    am    I    in    my 

speech, 
And  little  bless'd  with  the  soft  phrase  of  peace : 
For  since  these  arms  of  mine  had  seven  years'  pith, 
Till  now  some  nine  moons  wasted,  they  have  used 
Their  dearest  action '  in  the  tented  field. 
And  little  of  this  great  world  can  I  speak, 
More  than  pertains  to  feats  of  broil  and  battle, 
And  therefore  little  shall  I  grace  my  cause 
In  speaking  for  myself.     Yet,  by  your  gracious  pa- 
tience, 
I  will  a  round  unvarnished  tale  deliver 
Ot  my   whole    course  of    love;    what    drugs,    what 

charms. 
What  conjuration  and  what  mighty  magic, 
For  such  proceeding  I  am  charged  withal, 
I  won  his  daughter. 

Her  father  loved  me  ;  oft  invited  me  ; 

Still  questioned  me  the  story  of  my  life. 

From  year  to  year,  the  battles,  sieges,  fortunes. 

That  I  have  pass'd. 

I  ran  it  through,  even  from  my  boyish  days. 

To  the  very  moment  that  he  bade  me  tell  it ; 

Wherein  I  spake  of  most  disastrous  chances, 

Of  moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field. 

Of    hair-breadth    scapes    i'    the    imminent    deadly 

breach. 
Of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe 

1  Best  exertion. 


Othello,  163 

And  sold  to  slavery,  of  my  redemption  thence 
And  portance  ^  in  my  travels'  history : 

This  to  hear 
Would  Desdemona  seriously  incline  : 
But  still  the  house-affairs  would  draw  her  thence  : 
Which  ever  as  she  could  with  haste  dispatch, 
She  'Id  come  again,  and  with  a  greedy  ear 
Devour  up  my  discourse :   which  I  observing, 
Took  once  a  pliant  hour,  and  found  good  means 
To  draw  from  her  a  prayer  of  earnest  heart 
That  I  would  all  my  pilgrimage  dilate, 
Whereof  by  parcels  ^  she  had  something  heard, 
But  not  intentively :  ^  I  did  consent. 
And  often  did  beguile  her  of  her  tears. 
When  I  did  speak  of  some  distressful  stroke 
That  my  youth  suffer'd.      My  story  being  done. 
She  gave  me  for  my  pains  a  world  of  sighs : 
She  swore,   in   faith,  't  was   strange,    't  was   passing 

strange, 
'T  was  pitiful,  't  was  wondrous  pitiful : 
She  wish'd  she  had  not  heard  it,  yet  she  wish'd 
That  heaven  had  made  her  such  a  man :   she  thankM 

me, 
And  bade  me,  if  I  had  a  friend  that  loved  her, 
I  should  but  teach  him  how  to  tell  my  story. 
And  thaf  would  woo  her.     Upon  this  hint  I  spake  : 
She  loved  me  for  the  dangers  I  had  pass'd, 
And  I  loved  her  that  she  did  pity  them. 

1  My  behaviour.  2  Parts. 

3  Intention  and  attention  were  once  synonymous. 


1 64  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 


ACT    II. 


PERFECT    CONTENT. 


O  my  soul's  joy  ! 
If  after  every  tempest  come  such  calms, 
May  the  >vinds  blow  till  they  have  waken'd  death  ! 
And  let  the  labouring  bark  climb  hills  of  seas 
Olympus-high  and  duck  again  as  low 
As  hell 's  from  heaven  !     If  it  were  now  to  die, 
'T  were  now  to  be  most  happy ;   for,  I  fear, 
My  soul  hath  her  content  so.  absolute 
That  not  another  comfort  like  to  this 
Succeeds  in  unknown  fate. 


ACT   III. 

A  lover's  exclamation. 
Farewell,  my  Desdemona :  I  '11  come  to  thee  straight. 

[^Exit  Desdemona. 
Excellent  wretch  !     Perdition  catch  my  soul. 
But  I  do  love  thee !  and  when  I  love  thee  not. 
Chaos  is  come  again.  ^ 

OTHELLO'S   FIRST   SUSPICION. 

Othello.  What  dost  thou  think  ? 

/ago.  Think,  my  lord  ! 

0th.  Think,  my  lord  ! 


Othello.  165 

By  heaven,  he  echoes  me, 
As  if  there  were  some  monster  in  his  thought 
Too  hideous  to  be  shown.     Thou  dost  mean  some- 
thing : 
I  heard  thee  say  even  now,  thou  likedst  not  that. 
When  Cassio  left  my  wife  :   what  didst  not  like  ? 
And  when  I  told  thee  he  was  of  my  counsel 
In  my  whole  course  of  wooing,  thou  criedst  *  Indeed  !  ' 
And  didst  contract  and  purse  thy  brow  together, 
As  if  thou  then  hadst  shut  up  in  thy  brain 
Some  horrible  conceit :  if  thou  dost  love  me, 
Show  me  thy  thought. 

lago.   My  lord,  you  know  I  love  you. 
0th.  I  think  thou  dost ; 

And,  for  I  know  thou  Vt  full  of  love  and  honesty. 
And   weigh'st   thy  words   before    thou   givest   them 

breath. 
Therefore  these  stops  of  thine  fright  me  the  more : 
For  such  things  in  a  false  disloyal  knave 
Are  tricks  of  custom,  but  in  a  man  that  's  just 
They  are  close  delations,  working  from  the  heart 
That  passion  cannot  rule. 

REPUTATION. 

Good  name  in  man  and  woman,  dear  my  lord, 

Is  the  immediate  jewel  of  their  souls  : 

Who  steals  my  purse  steals  trash ;  't  is  something, 

nothing ; 
'T  was  mine,  't  is  his,  and  has  been  slave  to  thousands  ; 
But  he  that  filches  from  me  my  good  name 


1 66  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Robs  me  of  that  which  not  enriches  him 
And  makes  me  poor  indeed. 


Othello's  jealousy  gaining  ground. 

This  fellow  's  of  exceeding  honesty, 
And  knows  all  qualities,  with  a  learned  spirit. 
Of  human  dealings.      If  I  do  prove  her  haggard,' 
Though  that  her  jesses  ^  were  my  dear  heart-strings, 
1  'Id  whistle  her  off  and  let  her  down  the  wind. 
To  prey  at  fortune.     Haply,  for  I  am  black 
And  have  not  those  soft  parts  of  conversation 
That  chamberers  ^  have,  or  for  I  am  declined 
Into  the  vale  of  years,  — yet  that  's  not  much  — 
She  's  gone.     I  am  abused ;  and  my  relief 
Must  be  to  loathe  her.     O  curse  of  marriage, 
That  we  can  call  these  delicate  creatures  ours. 
And  not  their  appetites !     I  had  rather  be  a  toad, 
And  live  upon  the  vapour  of  a  dungeon. 
Than  keep  a  corner  in  the  thing  I  love 
For  others'  uses. 

DEFINITION   OF   JEALOUSY. 

Trifles  light  as  air 
Are  to  the  jealous  confirmations  strong 
As  proofs  of  holy  writ. 

1 A  species  of   hawk ;   also   a  term   of  reproach   applied   to   a 
wanton. 

2  Straps  of  leather  by  which  a  hawk  is  held  on  the  fist. 
8  Men  of  intrigue. 


Othello.  167 

THE  TORTURES  OF  JEALOUSY. 

Look,  where  he  comes  ! 

Enter  Othello. 
Not  poppy,  nor  mandragora,^ 
Nor  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of  the  world, 
Shall  ever  medicine  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep 
Which  thou  owedst  2  yesterday. 

Othello.  Ha  !  ha  !  false  to  me  ? 

lago.     Why,  how  now,  general !  no  more  of  that. 

0th.     Avaunt !  begone  !   thou  hast  set  me  on  the 
rack: 
I  swear  't  is  better  to  be  much  abused 
Than  but  to  know  't  a  little. 

lago.  How  now,  my  lord  ! 

0th.     What  sense  had   I    of  her  stoPn  hours  of 
lust? 
I  saw 't  not,  thought  it  not,  it  harm'd  not  me : 
1  slept  the  next  night  well,  was  free  and  merry ; 
I  found  not  Cassio''s  kisses  on  her  lips : 
He  that  is  robb'd,  not  wanting  what  is  stoPn, 
Let  him  not  know  't,  and  he  's  not  robb'd  at  all. 

lago.     I  am  sorry  to  hear  this. 

0th.     I  had  been  happy,  if  the  general  camp, 
Pioners^  and  all,  had  tasted  her  sweet  body, 
So  I  had  nothing  known.     O,  now,  for  ever 
Farewell  the  tranquil  mind  !  farewell  content ! 
Farewell  the  plumed  troop,  and  the  big  wars, 

1  The  mandrake  has  a  soporific  quality.  2  Possessedst. 

3  The  vilest  of  the  camp.     Pioners   were  generally  degraded 
soldiers. 


1 68  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

That  make  ambition  virtue  !    O  farewell ! 
Farewell  the  neighing  steed,  and  the  shrill  trump, 
The  spirit-stirring  drum,  the  ear-piercing  fife, 
The  royal  banner,  and  all  quality. 
Pride,  pomp  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war ! 
And,  O  you  mortal  engines,  whose  rude  throats 
The  immortal  Jove's  dread  clamours  counterfeit. 
Farewell !     Othello's  occupation 's  gone  ! 

Jago.     Is  H  possible,  my  lord? 

0th.     Villain,  be  sure  thou  prove  my  love  a  whore, 
Be  sure  of  it ;  give  me  the  ocular  proof; 
Or,  by  the  worth  of  man's  eternal  soul. 
Thou  hadst  been  better  have  been  born  a  dog 
Than  answer  my  waked  wrath. 

/ago.  Is 't  come  to  this? 

0th.     Make  me  to  see  't ;  or,  at  the  least,  so  prove 
it, 
That  the  probation  bear  no  hinge  nor  loop 
To  hang  a  doubt  on ;  or  woe  upon  thy  life  ! 

/ago.     My  noble  lord,  — 

0th.     If  thou  dost  slander  her  and  torture  me, 
Never  pray  more  ;  abandon  all  remorse  ;' 
On  horror's  head  horrors  accumulate  ; 
Do  deeds  to  make  heaven  weep,  all  earth  amazed ; 
For  nothing  canst  thou  to  damnation  add 
Greater  than  that. 

lago.  O  grace  !  O  heaven  forgive  me  ! 

Are  you  a  man  ?  have  you  a  soul  or  sense  ? 
God  be  wi'  you ;  take  mine  office.     O  wretched  fool, 

1  All  tenderiftss,  all  pity. 


Othello.  169 

That  livest  to  make  thine  honesty  a  vice ! 

0  monstrous  world  !    Take  note,  take  note,  O  world, 
To  be  direct  and  honest  is  not  safe. 

1  thank  you  for  this  profit ;  and  from  hence 

I  Ul  love  no  friend,  sith  love  breeds  such  offence. 

Oih.     Nay,  stay:  thou  shouldst  be  honest. 

lago.     I  should  be  wise,  for  honesty  's  a  fool 
And  loses  that  it  works  for. 

0th.  By  the  world, 

I  think  my  wife  be  honest  and  think  she  is  not ; 
I  think  that  thou  art  just  and  think  thou  art  not. 
I  '11  have  some  proof.     Her  name,  that  was  as  fresh 
As  Dian's  visage,  is  now  begrimed  and  black 
As  mine  own  face.      If  there  be  cords,  or  knives, 
Poison,  or  fire,  or  suffocating  streams, 
I  '11  not  endure  it.     Would  I  were  satisfied  ! 


OTHELLO  S  STORY  OF  THE  HANDKERCHIEF. 

Othello.     That  handkerchief 
Did  an  Egyptian  to  my  mother  give  ; 
She  was  a  charmer,^  and  could  almost  read 
The   thoughts   of  people:   she   told   her,    while  sh; 

kept  it, 
'T  would  make  her  amiable  and  subdue  my  father 
Entirely  to  her  love,  but  if  she  lost  it 
Or  made  a  gift  of  it,  my  father's  eye 
Should  hold  her  loathed  and  his  spirits  should  hunt 
After  new  fancies  :  she,  dying,  gave  it  me  ; 

1  enchantress. 


1 70  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

And  bid  me,  when  my  fate  would  have  me  wive, 
To  give  it  her.     I  did  so :  and  take  heed  on  't ; 
Make  it  a  darhng  like  your  precious  eye  ; 
To  lose  't  or  give  't  away  were  such  perdition 
As  nothing  else  could  match. 

Desdemona.  Is  't  possible? 

0th.     ''T  is  true  :  there  's  magic  in  the  web  of  it 
A  sibyl,  that  had  numbered  in  the  world 
The  sun  to  course  two  hundred  compasses, 
In  her  prophetic  fury  sewM  the  work  ; 
The  worms  were  hallowed  that  did  breed  the  silk ; 
And  it  was  dyed  in  mummy  which  the  skilful 
Conserved  of  maidens'  hearts. 


A  lover's  computation  of  time. 

What,  keep  a  week  away?  seven  days  and  nights? 
Eight  score  eight  hours  ?  and  lovers'  absent  hours, 
More  tedious  than  the  dial  eight  score  times? 
O  weary  reckoning ! 


ACT  IV. 

Othello's  distraction. 

Othello.  What  hath  he  said? 

lago.     'Faith,  that  he  did  —  I  know  not  what  he 

did. 
Oth.     What?  what? 
lago.     Lie  — 
Oth.  With  her? 


Othello.  171 

Tago.  With  her,  on  her ;  what  you  will. 

Olh.  Lie  with  her !  lie  on  her !  We  say  lie  on 
her,  when  they  belie  her.  Lie  with  her  !  that 's  ful- 
some —  Handkerchief —  confessions  —  handkerchief! 
—  To  confess,  and  be  hanged  for  his  labour ;  ^  —  first, 
to  be  hanged,  and  then  to  confess.  —  I  tremble  at  it. 
Nature  would  not  invest  herself  in  such  shadowing 
passion  without  some  instruction.  It  is  not  words 
that  shake  me  thus.  Pish  I  Noses,  ears,  and  lips. — 
Is 't  possible  ?  —  Confess  —  handkerchief !  —  O  devil ! 

[Falls  in  a  trance. 

HIS  FONDNESS. 

Othello.  A  fine  woman  !  a  fair  woman !  a  sweet 
woman  ! 

lago.     Nay,  you  must  forget  that. 

0th.  Ay,  let  her  rot,  and  perish,  and  be  damned 
to-night ;  for  she  shall  not  live :  no,  my  heart  is 
turned  to  stone ;  I  strike  it,  and  it  hurts  my  hand. 
O,  the  world  hath  not  a  sweeter  creature :  she  might 
lie  by  an  emperor's  side  and  command  him  tasks. 

lago.     Nay,  that 's  not  your  way. 

0th.  Hang  her !  I  do  but  say  what  she  is  :  so 
delicate  with  her  needle  :  an  admirable  musician  :  O  ! 
she  will  sing  the  savageness  out  of  a  bear :  of  so 
high  and  plenteous  wit  and  invention  : — 

lago.     She  's  the  worse  for  all  this. 

0th.  O,  a  thousand  thousand  times  :  and  then,  of 
so  gentle  a  condition  !  '■* 

1  A  proverbial  saying.  *  Of  so  sweet  a  disposition. 


172  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

lago.     Ay,  too  gentle. 

0th.     Nay,  that 's  certain  :  but  yet  the  pity  of  it, 
lago  !  O  lago,  the  pity  of  it,  lago  ! 


HIS  CONFIRMED  JEALOUSY. 

Othello.     Mistress ! 
Desdefnona.     My  lord? 

0th.  What  would  you  do  with  her,  sir? 

Lodovico.     Who,  I,  my  lord? 

Oth.     Ay ;   you  did  wish  that  I    would  make  her 
turn: 
Sir,  she  can  turn,  and  turn,  and  yet  go  on. 
And  turn  again  ;  and  she  can  weep,  sir,  weep ; 
And  she  's  obedient,  as  you  say,  obedient. 
Very  obedient.     Proceed  you  in  your  tears. 
Concerning  this,  sir,  —  O  well-painted  passion  !  — 
1  am  commanded  home.     Get  you  away  ; 
I  Ul  send  for  you  anon.      Sir,  I  obey  the  mandate. 
And  will  return  to  Venice.     Hence,  avaunt ! 

\Exit  Desdemona. 
Cassio  shall  have  my  place.     And,  sir,  to-night, 
I  do  entreat  that  we  may  sup  together : 
You  are  welcome,  sir,  to  Cyprus  —  Goats  and  mon- 
keys !  {Exit. 

HIS  PATHETIC  UPBRAIDING   OF    DESDEMONA. 

Desdemona.    Upon    my   knees,    what    doth    your 
speech  import? 
I  understand  a  fury  in  your  words. 


Othello.  1 73 

But  not  the  words. 

Othello.     Why,  what  art  thou? 

Des.  Your  wife,  my  lord  ;  your  true 

And  loyal  wife. 

0th.  Come,  swear  it,  damn  thyself; 

Lest,  being  like  one  of  heaven,  the  devils  themselves 
Should   fear  to    seize   thee :     therefore    be    double- 

damn'd  : 
Swear  thou  art  honest. 

Des.  Heaven  doth  truly  know  it. 

0th.     Heaven  truly  knows  that  thou  art  false  as 
hell. 

Des.     To  whom,  my  lord?  with  whom?  how  am 
I  false? 

0th.     O  Desdemona !  away!  away!  away! 

Des.     Alas  the  heavy  day  !     Why  do  you  weep  ? 
Am  I  the  motive  of  these  tears,  my  lord? 
If  haply  you  my  father  do  suspect 
An  instrument  of  this  your  calling  back, 
Lay  not  your  blame  on  me  ;   if  you  have  lost  him, 
Why,  I  have  lost  him  too. 

0th.  Had  it  pleased  heaven 

To  try  me  with  affliction  ;   had  they  rain'd 
All  kinds  of  sores  and  shames  on  my  bare  head, 
Steep'd  me  in  poverty  to  the  very  lips. 
Given  to  captivity  me  and  my  utmost  hopes, 
I  should  have  found  in  some  place  of  my  soul 
A  drop  of  patience :  but,  alas,  to  make  me 
A  fixed  figure  for  the  time  of  scorn 
To  point  his  slow  unmoving  finger  at ! 
Yet  could  I  bear  that  too ;  well,  very  well ! 


174  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

But  there,  where  I  have  garnered  ^  up  my  heart, 
Where  either  I  must  live,  or  bear  no  life ; 
The  fountain  from  the  which  my  current  runs, 
Or  else  dries  up ;  to  be  discarded  thence  ! 
Or  keep  it  as  a  cistern  for  foul  toads 
To  knot  and  gender  in  !  turn  thy  complexion  there. 
Patience,  thou  young  and  rose-lippM  cherubin,  — 
Ay,  there,  look  grim  as  hell ! 

Des.     I  hope  my  noble  lord  esteems  me  honest. 

Oih.     O,  ay ;  as  summer  flies  are  in  the  shambles, 
That  quicken  even  with  blowing.     O  thou  weed. 
Who  art  so  lovely  fair  and  smell'st  so  sweet 
That  the  sense  aches  at  thee,  would  thou  hadst  ne'er 
been  born  ! 

Des.     Alas,  what  ignorant  sin  have  I  committed? 

0th.     Was  this  fair  paper,  this  most  goodly  book, 
Made  to  write  *  whore  '  upon  ?     What  committed ! 
Committed  !       O  thou  public  commoner  ! 
I  should  make  very  forges  of  my  cheeks. 
That  would  to  cinders  burn  up  modesty. 
Did  I  but  speak  thy  deeds.     What  committed  ! 
Heaven  stops  the  nose  at  it  and  the  moon  winks, 
The  bawdy  wind  that  kisses  all  it  meets 
Is  hush'd  within  the  hollow  mine  of  earth. 
And  will  not  hear  it.     What  committed  ! 
Impudent  strumpet ! 

Des.  By  heaven,  you  do  me  wrong. 

0th.     Are  you  not  a  strumpet? 

Des.  No,  as  I  am  a  Christian : 

If  to  preserve  this  vessel  for  my  lord 

»  Treasured  up. 


Othello.  175 

From  any  other  foul  unlawful  touch 
Be  not  to  be  a  strumpet,  I  am  none, 

0th.     What,  not  a  whore  ? 

Des,  No,  as  I  shall  be  saved. 

0th,     Is  't  possible? 

Des.     O  heaven  forgive  us  ! 

0th.  I  cry  you  mercy,  then : 

I  took  you  for  that  cunning  whore  of  Venice 
That  married  with  Othello. 

desdemona's  fidelity. 

O  good  I  ago. 
What  shall  I  do  to  win  my  lord  again  ? 
Good  friend,  go  to  him ;   for,  by  this  light  of  heaven, 
I  know  not  how  I  lost  him.      Here  I  kneel : 
If  e'er  my  will  did  trespass  'gainst  his  love, 
Either  in  discourse  of  thought  or  actual  deed, 
Or  that  mine  eyes,  mine  ears,  or  any  sense, 
Delighted  them  in  any  other  form ; 
Or  that  I  do  not  yet,  and  ever  did. 
And  ever  will  —  though  he  do  shake  me  off 
To  beggarly  divorcement  —  love  him  dearly, 
Comfort  forswear  me  !     Unkindness  may  do  much  ; 
And  his  unkindness  may  defeat  my  life, 
But  never  taint  my  love. 


176  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


ACT  V. 

OTHELLO'S    IRRESOLUTION    TO  MURDER  DESDEMONA. 

Scene.     A  Bedchamber  in  the  Castle:    Desdemona 
iti  bed  asleep.     A  light  burning. 

Othello.  It  is  the  cause,  it  is  the  cause,  my  soul, — 
Let  me  not  name  it  to  you,  you  chaste  stars, — 
It  is  the  cause.     Yet  I  '11  not  shed  her  blood ; 
Nor  scar  that  whiter  skin  of  hers  than  snow, 
And  smooth  as  monumental  alabaster. 
Yet  she  must  die,  else  she  '11  betray  more  men. 
Put  out  the  light,  and  then  put  out  the  light:' 
If  I  quench  thee,  thou  flaming  minister, 
I  can  again  thy  former  light  restore. 
Should  I  repent  me :  but  once  put  out  thy  light, 
Thou  cunning'st  pattern  of  excelling  nature, 
I  know  not  where  is  that  Promethean  heat 
That  can  thy  light  relume.     When  I  have   pluck'd 

the  rose, 
I  cannot  give  it  vital  growth  again. 
It  must  needs  wither:  I  '11  smell  it  on  the  tree. 

[Kissing  her. 
Ah,  'balmy  breath,  that  dost  almost  persuade 
Justice  to  break  her  sword !    One  more,  one  more. 
Be  thus  when  thou  art  dead,  and  I  will  kill  thee. 
And  love  thee  after.     One  more,  and  this  the  last : 
So  sweet  was  ne'er  so  fatal.     I  must  weep, 

»  i.e.  The  light  of  life. 


Othello.  177 

But  they  are  cruel  tears :  this  sorrow  's  heavenly ; 
It  strikes  where  it  doth  love. 


HIS    CONFUSION   AFTER    THE    MURDER. 

Yes  :  't  is  Emilia.     By  and  by.     She  's  dead. 
'T  is  like  she  comes  to  speak  of  Cassio's  death. — 
The  noise  was  here.     Ha!  no  more  moving? 
Still  as  the  grave.     Shall   she    come    in?     Were  't 

good  ?  — 
I  think  she  stirs  again :  —  no.     What  's  best  to  do? 
If  she  come  in,  she  '11  sure  speak  to  my  wife : 
My  wife  !  my  wife  !  what  wife?     I  have  no  wife. 
O,  insupportable  !  O  heavy  hour  ! 
Methinks  it  should  be  now  a  huge  eclipse 
Of  sun  and  moon,  and  that  the  affrighted  globe 
Should  yawn  at  alteration. 

HIS    LOVE. 

Had  she  been  true, 
If  heaven  would  make  me  such  another  world 
Of  one  entire  and  perfect  chrysolite,* 
I  Id  not  have  sold  her  for  it. 

HIS    REMORSE. 

Behold,  I  have  a  weapon ; 
A  better  never  did  itself  sustain 
Upon  a  soldier's  thigh :  I  have  seen  the  day, 
That,  with  this  little  arm  and  this  good  sword, 

1 A  precious  stone. 


1 78  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

I  have  made  my  way  through  more  impediments 

Than  twenty  times  your  stop  :   but,  O  vain  boast ! 

Who  can  control  his  fate?  't  is  not  so  now. 

Be  not  afraid,  though  you  do  see  me  weapon'd ; 

Here  is  my  journey's  end,  here  is  my  butt, 

And  very  sea-mark  of  my  utmost  sail. 

Do  you  go  back  dismay'd  ?  't  is  a  lost  fear ; 

Man  but  a  rush  against  Othello's  breast. 

And  he  retires.     Where  should  Othello  go? 

Now,  how  dost  thou  look  now?     O  ill-starr'd  wench  ! 

Pale  as  thy  smock !  when  we  shall  meet  at  compt, ' 

This  look  of  thine  will  hurl  my  soul  from  heaven, 

And  fiends  will  snatch  at  it.     Cold,  cold,  my  girl ! 

Even  like  thy  chastity. 

O  cursed  slave !    Whip  me,  ye  devils. 

From  the  possession  of  this  heavenly  sight ! 

Blow  me  about  in  winds !  roast  me  in  sulphur ! 

Wash  me  in  steep-down  gulfs  of  liquid  fire  ! 

O  Desdemona  !  Desdemona  !  dead  ! 

Oh!  Oh!  Oh! 


HIS    SPEECH    BEFORE   HIS  DEATH. 

Soft  you ;  a  word  or  two  before  you  go. 

I  have  done  the  state  some  service,  and  they  know  't. 

No  more  of  that.     I  pray  you,  in  your  letters, 

When  you  shall  these  unlucky  deeds  relate, 

Speak  of  me  as  I  am  ;  nothing  extenuate, 

Nor  set  down  aught  in  malice  :  then  must  you  speak 

Of  one  that  loved  not  wisely  but  too  well ; 

1  Account. 


Othello.  179 

Of  one  not  easily  jealous,  but  being  wrought 

Perplex'd  in  the  extreme  ;  of  one  whose  hand, 

Like  the  base  Indian,  threw  a  pearl  away 

Richer  than  all  his  tribe  ;  of  one  whose  subdued  eyes, 

Albeit  unused  to  the  melting  mood, 

Drop  tears  as  fast  as  the  Arabian  trees 

Their  medicinal  gum.     Set  you  down  this ; 

And  say  besides,  that  in  Aleppo  once. 

Where  a  malignant  and  a  turban'd  Turk 

Beat  a  Venetian  and  traduced  the  state, 

I  took  by  the  throat  the  circumcised  dog. 

And  smote  him,  thus.  [Stabs  himself. 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 
ACT  I. 

LOVE. 

Love  is  a  smoke  raised  with  the  fume  of  sighs ; 
Being  purged,  a  fire  sparkUng  in  lovers'  eyes ; 
Being  vex'd,  a  sea  nourished  witli  lovers'  tears : 
What  is  it  else?  a  madness  most  discreet, 
A  choking  gall  and  a  preserving  sweet. 

ON    DREAMS. 

O,  then,  I  see  Queen  Mab  hath  been  with  you. 

She  is  the  fairies'  midwife,  and  she  comes 

In  shape  no  bigger  than  an  agate-stone 

On  the  fore-finger  of  an  alderman. 

Drawn  with  a  team  of  little  atomies ' 

Athwart  men's  noses  as  they  lie  asleep ; 

Her  waggon-spokes  made  of  long  spinners'  legs. 

The  cover  of  the  wings  of  grasshoppers. 

The  traces  of  the  smallest  spider's  web. 

The  collars  of  the  moonshine's  watery  beams, 

Her  whip  of  cricket's  bone,  the  lash  of  film, 

Her  waggoner  a  small  grey-coated  gnat, 

Not  half  so  big  as  a  round  little  worm 

1  Atoms. 


Romeo  and  Juliet,  i8i 

Prick'd  from  the  lazy  finger  of  a  maid ; 

Her  chariot  is  an  empty  hazel-nut 

Made  by  the  joiner  squirrel  or  old  grub, 

Time  out  o'  mind  the  fairies'  coachmakers. 

And  in  this  state  she  gallops  night  by  night 

Through  lovers'  brains,  and  then  they  dream  of  love  ; 

O'er    courtiers'    knees,    that    dream    on    court'sies 

straight, 
O'er  lawyers'  fingers,  who  straight  dream  on  fees, 
O'er  ladies'  lips,  who  straight  on  kisses  dream, 
Which  oft  the  angry  Mab  with  blisters  plagues. 
Because  their  breaths  with  sweetmeats  tainted  are : 
Sometime  she  gallops  o'er  a  courtier's  nose. 
And  then  dreams  he  of  smelling  out  a  suit ;  ^ 
And  sometime  comes  she  with  a  tithe-pig's  tail 
Tickling  a  parson's  nose  as  a'  lies  asleep, 
Then  dreams  he  of  another  benefice  : 
Sometime  she  driveth  o'er  a  soldier's  neck, 
And  then  dreams  he  of  cutting  foreign  throats, 
Of  breaches,  ambuscadoes,  Spanish  blades, 
Of  healths  five-fathom  deep ;  and  then  anon 
Drums  in  his  ear,  at  which  he  starts  and  wakes. 
And  being  thus  frighted  swears  a  prayer  or  two 
And  sleeps  again.     This  is  that  very  Mab 
That  plats  the  manes  of  horses  in  the  night, 
And  bakes  the  elf-locks  ^  in  foul  sluttish  hairs, 
Which  once  untangled  much  misfortune  bodes : 
This  is  the  hag,  when  maids  lie  on  their  backs, 

1  A  place  in  court. 

*  i.e.  Fairy  locks,  locks   of    hair  clotted   and    tangled    in    the 
night. 


1 82  Beauties  of  Shahspeare. 

That  presses  them  and  learns  them  first  to  bear, 
Making  them  women  of  good  carriage : 
This  is  she  — 

Romeo.  Peace,  peace,  Mercutio,  peace  ! 

Thou  talk'st  of  nothing. 

Mercutio.  True,  I  talk  of  dreams, 

Which  are  the  children  of  an  idle  brain. 
Begot  of  nothing  but  vain  fantasy. 
Which  is  as  thin  of  substance  as  the  air 
And  more  inconstant  than  the  wind,  who  woos 
Even  now  the  frozen  bosom  of  the  north, 
And,  being  anger'd,  puffs  away  from  thence. 
Turning  his  face  to  the  dew-dropping  south. 

DESCRIPTION   OF   A    BEAUTY. 

O,  she  doth  teach  the  torches  to  burn  bright ! 
It  seems  she  hangs  upon  the  cheek  of  night 
Like  a  rich  jewel  in  an  Ethiope's '  ear ; 
Beauty  too  rich  for  use,  for  earth  too  dear  ! 
So  shows  a  snowy  dove  trooping  with  crows. 
As  yonder  lady  o'er  her  fellows  shows. 


ACT  II. 

THE   GARDEN    SCENE. 

Enter  Romeo. 
Rojneo.     He  jests  at  scars  that  never  felt  a  wound. 
[Juliet  appears  above  at  a  window. 

1  An  Ethiopian,  a  black. 


Romeo  and  Juliet.  183 

But,  soft !  what  light  through  yonder  window  breaks? 

It  is  the  east,  and  Juliet  is  the  sun. 

Arise,  fair  sun,  and  kill  the  envious  moon, 

Who  is  already  sick  and  pale  with  grief. 

That  thou  her  maid  art  far  more  fair  than  she : 

Be  not  her  maid,'  since  she  is  envious  ; 

Her  vestal  livery  is  but  sick  and  green 

And  none  but  fools  do  wear  it ;  cast*  it  off. 

It  is  my  lady,  O,  it  is  my  love  ! 

O,  that  she  knew  she  were  ! 

She  speaks,  yet  she  says  nothing :  what  of  that  ? 

Her  eye  discourses ;  I  will  answer  it. 

I  am  too  bold,  't  is  not  to  me  she  speaks : 

Two  of  the  fairest  stars  in  all  the  heaven, 

Having  some  business,  do  entreat  her  eyes' 

To  twinkle  in  their  spheres  till  they  return. 

What  if  her  eyes  were  there,  they  in  her  head? 

The  brightness  of  her  cheek  would  shame  those  stars, 

As  daylight  doth  a  lamp ;  her  eyes  in  heaven 

Would  through  the  airy  region  stream  so  bright 

That  birds  would  sing  and  think  it  were  not  night. 

See,  how  she  leans  her  cheek  upon  her  hand  ! 

O,  that  I  were  a  glove  upon  that  hand. 

That  I  might  touch  that  cheek ! 

Juliet.  Ay  me ! 

Rom.  She  speaks: 

O,  speak  again,  bright  angel !  for  thou  art 
As  glorious  to  this  night,  being  o'er  my  head, 
As  is  a  winged  messenger  of  heaven 
Unto  the  white-upturned  wondering  eyes 

*  A  votary  to  the  moon,  to  Diana. 


184  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Of  mortals  that  fall  back  to  gaze  on  him 
When  he  bestrides  the  lazy-pacing  clouds 
And  sails  upon  the  bosom  of  the  air. 

yul.     O,    Romeo,    Romeo  !    wherefore    art    thou" 
Romeo  ? 
Deny  thy  father  and  refuse  thy  name  ; 
Or,  if  thou  wilt  not,  be  but  sworn  my  love. 
And  I  '11  no  longer  be  a  Capulet. 

Rom.      [Aside.']       Shall  I  hear  more,   or  shall  I 
speak  at  this? 

yul.     'T  is  but  thy  name  that  is  my  enemy. 

What 's  in  a  name  ?  that  which  we  call  a  rose 
By  any  other  name  would  smell  as  sweet ; 
So  Romeo  would,  were  he  not  Romeo  calPd, 
Retain  that  dear  perfection  which  he  owes  ^ 
Without  that  title.     Romeo,  doff  2  thy  name, 
And  for  that  name  which  is  no  part  of  thee 
Take  all  myself. 

Rofn.  I  take  thee  at  thy  word : 

Call  me  but  love,  and  I  '11  be  new  baptized ; 
Henceforth  I  never  will  be  Romeo. 

yiil.     What  man  art  thou  that  thus  bescreen'd  in 
night 
So  stumblest  on  my  counsel  ? 

Rojn.  By  a  name 

I  know  not  how  to  tell  thee  who  I  am : 
My  name,  dear  saint,  is  hateful  to  myself, 
Because  it  is  an  enemy  to  thee ; 
Had  I  it  written,  I  would  tear  the  word. 

lOwns,  possesses.  s  Do  off. 


Romeo  and  Juliet.  185 

yul.     My   ears    have    not   yet    drunk   a  hundred 
words 
Of  that  tongue's  utterance,  yet  I  know  the  sound : 
Art  thou  not  Romeo  and  a  Montague  ? 

Rom.     Neither,  fair  saint,  if  either  thee  dislike. 

yul.       How    earnest    thou    hither,    tell    me;    and 
wherefore  ? 
The  orchard  walls  are  high  and  hard  to  climb. 
And  the  place  death,  considering  who  thou  art. 
If  any  of  my  kinsmen  find  thee  here. 

Rom.     With   love's   light  wings  did  I  o'er-perch 
these  walls ; 
For  stony  limits  cannot  hold  love  out. 
And  what  love  can  do  that  dares  love  attempt ; 
Therefore  thy  kinsmen  are  no  let  ^  to  me. 

yjtl.     If  they  do  see  thee,  they  will  murder  thee. 

Rom.  Alack,  there  lies  more  peril  in  thine  eye 
Than  twenty  of  their  swords  :  look  thou  but  sweet. 
And  I  am  proof  against  their  enmity. 

yul.    I  would  not  for  the  world  they  saw  thee  here. 

Rom.     I  have  night's  cloak  to  hide  me  from  their 
sight ; 
And  but  thou  love  me,^  let  them  find  me  here  : 
My  life  were  better  ended  by  their  hate. 
Than  death  prorogued,  wanting  of  thy  love. 

yul.     By  whose  direction  found'st  thou  out  this 
place  ? 

Rom.     By  love,   who  first  did  prompt  me  to  in- 
quire ; 
He  lent  me  counsel  and  I  lent  him  eyes. 

1  Hindrance.  2  Unless  thou  love  me. 


1 86  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

I  am  no  pilot ;  yet,  wert  thou  as  far 

As  that  vast  shore  wash'd  with  the  farthest  sea, 

I  would  adventure  for  such  merchandise. 

Jtil.     Thou  know'st  the  mask  of  night  is  on  my 
face, 
Else  would  a  maiden  blush  bepaint  my  cheek 
For  that  which  thou  hast  heard  me  speak  to-night. 
Fain  would  I  dwell  on  form,  fain,  fain  deny 
What  I  have  spoke  :  but  farewell  compHment ! 
Dost  thou  love  me  ?  I  know  thou  wilt  say  '  Ay,' 
And  I  will  take  thy  word :  yet,  if  thou  swear'st, 
Thou  mayst .prove  false;  at  lovers'  perjuries, 
They  say,  Jove  laughs.     O  gentle  Romeo, 
If  thou  dost  love,  pronounce  it  faithfully : 
Or  if  thou  think'st  I  am  too  quickly  won, 
I  '11  frown  and  be  perverse  and  say  thee  nay. 
So  thou  wilt  woo ;  but  else,  not  for  the  world. 
In  truth,  fair  Montague,  I  am  too  fond. 
And  therefore  thou  mayst  think  my  'haviour  '  light : 
But  trust  me,  gentleman,  I  '11  prove  more  true 
Than  those  that  have  more  cunning  to  be  strange.^ 
I  should  have  been  more  strange,  I  must  confess, 
But  that  thou  overheard'st,  ere  I  was  ware. 
My  true  love's  passion :  therefore  parjjon  me, 
And  not  impute  this  yielding  to  light  love. 
Which  the  dark  night  hath  so  discovered. 

Ro?n.     Lady,  by  yonder  blessed  moon  I  swear 
That  tips  with  silver  all  these  fmit-tree  tops  — 

Jul.     O,  swear  not  by  the  moon,  the  inconstant 
moon, 

1  Behaviour.  «  Shy. 


Romeo  and  Juliet.  187 

That  monthly  changes  in  her  circled  orb, 
Lest  that  thy  love  prove  likewise  variable. 

Rojn.     What  shall  I  swear  by? 

Jjil.  Do  not  swear  at  all ; 

Or,  if  thou  wilt,  swear  by  thy  gracious  self, 
Which  is  the  god  of  my  idolatry, 
And  I  Ul  believe  thee . 

Rofn.  If  my  heart's  dear  love  — 

yul.     Well,  do  not  swear :  although  I  joy  in  thee, 
I  have  no  joy  of  this  contract  to-night : 
It  is  too  rash,  too  unadvised,  too  sudden ; 
Too  like  the  lightning,  which  doth  cease  to  be 
Ere  one  can  say  '  It  lightens.'     Sweet,  good  night ! 
This  bud  of  love,  by  summer's  ripening  breath, 
May  prove  a  beauteous  flower  when  next  we  meet. 
Good  night,  good  night !  as  sweet  repose  and  rest 
Come  to  thy  heart  as  that  within  my  breast  ! 

Rom.     O,  wilt  thou  leave  me  so  unsatisfied? 

Jjil.     What  satisfaction  canst  thou  have  to-night? 

Ro7n.     The  exchange  of  thy  love's  faithful  vow  for 
mine. 

y?//.     I  gave  thee  mine  before  thou  didst  request  it : 
And  yet  I  would  it  were  to  give  again. 

Ro7;t.     Wouldst   thou  withdraw   it?  for  what  pur- 
pose, love? 

yul.     But  to  be  frank, ^  and  give  it  thee  again. 
And  yet  I  wish  but  for  the  thing  I  have : 
My  bounty  is  as  boundless  as  the  sea, 
My  love  as  deep ;  the  more  I  give  to  thee, 

iFree. 


1 88  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

The  more  I  have,  for  both  are  infinite. 

'  [Nurse  calls  ivithin. 

I  hear  some  noise  within ;  dear  love,  adieu  ! 
Anon,  good  nurse  !    Sweet  Montague,  be  true. 
Stay  but  a  little,  I  will  come  again.  \Exit,  above. 

Rofn.     O  blessed,  blessed  night !  I  am  afeard. 
Being  in  night,  all  this  is  but  a  dream. 
Too  flattering-sweet  to  be  substantial. 
Re-enter  Juliet,  above. 

Jul.     Three  words,  dear  Romeo,  and  good  night 
indeed. 
If  that  thy  bent  i  of  love  be  honourable, 
Thy  purpose  marriage,  send  me  word  to-morrow. 
By  one  that  I  '11  procure  to  come  to  thee, 
Where  and  what  time  thou  wilt  perform  the  rite ; 
And  all  my  fortunes  at  thy  foot  I  '11  lay 
And  follow  thee  my  lord  throughout  the  world. 

Nurse.     [Within. '\     Madam ! 

Jul.     I  come,  anon.  —  But  if  thou   mean'st  not 
well,  I  do  beseech  thee  — 

Nurse.      [Within. '\     Madam  ! 

Jul.  By  and  by,  I  come  :  — 

To  cease  thy  suit,  and  leave  me  to  my  grief: 
To-morrow  will  I  send. 

Ro?n.  So  thrive  my  soul  — 

Jul.    A  thousand  times  good  night  !    [Exit,  above. 

Rom.     A  thousand   times  the  worse,  to  want  thy 
light. 
Love  goes  toward    love,    as    schoolboys  from    their 

books, 

1  Inclination. 


Romeo  and  Juliet,  189 

But  love  from  love,  toward  school  with  heavy  looks. 

[^Retiring. 
Re-enter  Juliet,  above. 

Jul.     Hist !    Romeo,    hist !      O,   for  a  falconer's 
voice, 
To  lure  this  tassel-gentle  '  back  again  ! 
Bondage  is  hoarse,  and  may  not  speak  aloud ; 
Else  would  I  tear  the  cave  where  Echo  lies, 
And  make  her  airy  tongue  more  hoarse  than  mine, 
With  repetition  of  my  Romeo's  name. 

Rom.  It  is  my  soul  that  calls  upon  my  name : 
How  silver-sweet  sound  lovers'  tongues  by  night, 
Like  softest  music  to  attending  ears  ! 

Jul.     Romeo ! 

Rom.  My  dear? 

Jul.  At  what  o'clock  to-morrow 

Shall  I  send  to  thee  ? 

Rom.  At  the  hour  of  nine. 

Jul.     I  will  not  fail :  't  is  twenty  years  till  then. 
I  have  forgot  why  I  did  call  thee  back. 

Rom.     Let  me  stand  here  till  thou  remember  it. 

Jtd.     I  shall  forget,  to  have  thee  still  stand  there. 
Remembering  how  I  love  thy  company. 

Roju.     And  I  '11  still  stay,  to  have  thee  still  forget. 
Forgetting  any  other  home  but  this. 

Jul.     'T  is    almost  morning-;    I  would  have  thee 
gone : 
And  yet  no  further  than  a  wanton's  bird ; 
Who  lets  it  hop  a  little  from  her  hand, 

1  The  male  of  the  goshawk. 


iQo  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Like  a  poor  prisoner  in  his  twisted  gyves, ' 
And  with  a  silk  thread  plucks  it  back  again, 
So  loving-jealous  of  his  liberty. 
Rojn.     I  would  I  were  thy  bird. 
yul.  Sweet,  so  would  I : 

Yet  I  should  kill  thee  with  much  cherishing. 
Good  night,  good  night !  parting  is  such  sweet  sor- 
row. 
That  I  shall  say  good  night  till  it  be  morrow. 

love's  heralds. 

Love's  heralds  should  be  thoughts, 
Which  ten  times  faster  glide  than  the  sun's  beams, 
Driving  back  shadows  over  louring  hills : 
Therefore  do  nimble-pinion'd  doves  draw  love, 
And  therefore  hath  the  wind-swift  Cupid  wings. 

VIOLENT   DELIGHTS    NOT   LASTING. 

These  violent  delights  have  violent  ends 

And  in  their  triumph  die,  like  fire  and  powder, 

Which  as  they  kiss  consume. 

LOVERS    LIGHT   OF   FOOT. 

O,  so  light  a  foot 
Will  ne'er  wear  out  the  everlasting  flint : 
A  lover  may  bestride  the  gossamer  ^ 
That  idles  in  the  wanton  summer  air. 
And  yet  not  fall ;  so  light  is  vanity. 

1  Fetters.        2  The  long  white  filament  which  flies  in  the  wr. 


Romeo  and  Juliet.  191 


ACT  III. 

A  lover's  impatience. 

Gallop  apace,  you  fiery-footed  steeds, 
Towards  Phoebus'  lodging :  such  a  waggoner 
As  Phaethon  would  whip  you  to  the  west, 
And  bring  in  cloudy  night  immediately. 
Spread  thy  close  curtain,  love-performing  night, 
That  runaway's  eyes  may  wink,  and  Romeo 
Leap  to  these  arms,  untalk'd  of  and  unseen. 
Lovers  can  see  to  do  their  amorous  rites 
By  their  own  beauties  ;  or,  if  love  be  blind. 
It  best  agrees  with  night. 

ROMEO    ON    HIS    BANISHMENT. 

Scene.      Friar  Laiiretice's  Cell. 
Enter  Friar  Laurence  and  Romeo. 
Friar   Laurence.      A   gentler  judgment    vanishM 
from  his  lips, 
Not  body's  death,  but  body's  banishment. 

Romeo.   Ha,  banishment !  be  merciful,  say  '  death  ;  ' 
For  exile  hath  more  terror  in  his  look. 
Much  more  than  death :  do  not  say  '  banishment.' 

Fri.    Hence  from  Verona  art  thou  banished  : 
Be  patient,  for  the  world  is  broad  and  wide. 

Rom.    There  is  no  world  without  Verona  walls, 
But  purgatory,  torture,  hell  itself. 
Hence-banished  is  banish'd  from  the  world, 


192  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

And  world's  exile  is  death :  then  banished, 
Is  death  mis-term'd  :  calling  death  banishment, 
Thou  cutt'st  my  head  off  with  a  golden  axe, 
And  smilest  upon  the  stroke  that  murders  me. 

jFri.    O  deadly  sin  !  O  rude  unthankfulness  ! 
Thy  fault  our  law  calls  death  ;  but  the  kind  prince, 
Taking  thy  part,  hath  rush'd  aside  the  law, 
And  turn'd  that  black  word  death  to  banishment : 
This  is  dear  mercy,  and  thou  seest  it  not. 

jRom.  'T  is  torture,  and  not  mercy  :  heaven  is  here, 
Where  Juliet  lives ;  and  every  cat  and  dog 
And  little  mouse,  every  unworthy  thing, 
Live  here  in  heaven  and  may  look  on  her ; 
But  Romeo  may  not:  more  validity,' 
More  honourable  state,  more  courtship  lives 
In  carrion-flies  than  Romeo :  they  may  seize 
On  the  white  wonder  of  dear  Juliet's  hand 
And  steal  immortal  blessing  from  her  lips. 
Who,  even  in  pure  and  vestal  modesty. 
Still  blush,  as  thinking  their  own  kisses  sin ; 
But  Romeo  may  not ;  he  is  banished  : 
Flies  may  do  this,  but  I  from  this  must  fly : 
They  are  free  men,  but  I  am  banished. 
And  say'st  thou  yet  that  exile  is  not  death? 
Hadst  thou  no  poison  mix'd,  no  sharp-ground  knife 
No  sudden  mean  of  death,  though  ne'er  so  mean. 
But  '  banished '  to  kill  me  ?  —  '  banished '  ? 
O  friar,  the  damned  use  that  word  in  hell ; 
Howlings  attend  it :  how  hast  thou  the  heart, 

*  Worth,  value. 


Romeo  and  Juliet,  193 

Being  a  divine,  a  ghostly  confessor, 

A  sin-absolver,  and  my  friend  professed. 

To  mangle  me  with  that  word  '  banished '? 

Fri.    Thou  fond   madman,  hear  me   but  speak  a 
word. 

Rom.    O,  thou  wilt  speak  again  of  banishment. 

Fri.    I  '11  give  thee  armour  to  keep  off  that  word ; 
Adversity's  sweet  milk,  philosophy, 
To  comfort  thee,  though  thou  art  banished. 

Rom.    Yet  ♦  banished  '  ?     Hang  up  philosophy  ! 
Unless  philosophy  can  make  a  Juliet, 
Displant  a  town,  reverse  a  prince's  doom, 
It  helps  not,  it  prevails  not :  talk  no  more. 

Fri.    O,  then  I  see  that  madmen  have  no  ears. 

Rom.    How  should  they,  when  that  wise  men  have 
no  eyes  ? 

Fri.    Let  me  dispute  with  thee  of  thy  estate. 

Rom.    Thou  canst  not  speak  of  that  thou  dost  not 
feel: 
Wert  thou  as  young  as  I,  Juliet  thy  love. 
An  hour  but  married,  Tybalt  murdered, 
Doting  like  me  and  like  me  banished, 
Then  mightst  thou  speak,  then  mightst  thou  tear  thy 

hair, 
And  fall  upon  the  ground,  as  I  do  now. 
Taking  the  measure  of  an  unmade  grave. 

RELUCTANCE  OF  LOVERS  TO  PART. 

Juliet.   Wilt  thou  be  gone  ?  it  is  not  yet  near  day : 
It  was  the  nightingale,  and  not  the  lark, 


194  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

That  pierced  the  fearful  hollow  of  thine  ear ; 
Nightly  she  sings  on  yon  pomegranate  tree : 
Believe  me,  love,  it  was  the  nightingale. 

Romeo.    It  was  the  lark,  the  herald  of  the  morn, 
No  nightingale :   look,  love,  what  envious  streaks 
Do  lace  the  severing  clouds  in  yonder  east : 
Night's  candles  are  burnt  out,  and  jocund  day 
Stands  tiptoe  on  the  misty  mountain  tops. 
I  must  be  gone  and  live,  or  stay  and  die, 

ytd.    Yon  light  is  not  day-light,  I  know  it,  I: 
It  is  some  meteor  that  the  sun  exhales. 
To  be  to  thee  this  night  a  torch-bearer, 
And  light  thee  on  thy  way  to  Mantua : 
Therefore  stay  yet ;  thou  need'st  not  to  be  gone. 

Rom.    Let  me  be  ta'en,  let  me  be  put  to  death ; 
I  am  content,  so  thou  wilt  have  it  so. 
I  '11  say  yon  grey  is  not  the  morning's  eye, 
'T  is  but  the  pale  reflex  of  Cynthia's  brow ;  > 
Nor  that  is  not  the  lark,  whose  notes  do  beat 
The  vanity  heaven  so  high  above  our  heads : 
I  have  more  care  ^  to  stay  than  will  to  go : 
Come,  death,  and  welcome  !  Juliet  wills  it  so. 
How  is  't,  my  soul?  let  's  talk ;   it  is  not  day. 

AN   ANGRY    FATHER.^ 

yuliet.    Good  father,  I  beseech  you  on  my  knees, 
Hear  me  with  patience  but  to  speak  a  word. 

Capulet.     Hang  thee,  young  baggage  !  disobedi- 
ent wretch  ! 

I  Reflection  of  the  moon.  •  2  Inclination. 


Romeo  and  Juliet,  195 

I  tell  thee  what :  get  thee  to  church  o'  Thursday, 

Or  never  after  look  me  in  the  face : 

Speak  not,  reply  not,  do  not  answer  me  ; 

My  fingers  itch.     Wife,  we  scarce  thought  us  blest 

That  God  had  lent  us  but  this  only  child ; 

But  now  I  see  this  one  is  one  too  much, 

And  that  we  have  a  curse  in  having  her  : 

Out  on  her,  hilding  ! 

Nurse.  God  in  heaven  bless  her! 

You  are  to  blame,  my  lord,  to  rate  her  so. 

Cap.     And    why,    my   lady   wisdom?    hold   your 
tongue, 
Good  prudence  ;  smatter  with  your  gossips,  go. 

Nurse.     I  speak  no  treason. 

Cap.  O,  God  ye  god-den. 

Nurse.     May  not  one  speak? 

Cap'.  Peace,  you  mumbling  fool! 

Utter  your  gravity  o'er  a  gossip's  bowl ; 
For  here  we  need  it  not. 

Lady  Capulet.  You  are  too  hot. 

Cap.     God's  bread  !  it  makes  me  mad : 
Day,  night,  hour,  tide,  time,  work,  play, 
Alone,  in  company,  still  my  care  hath  been 
To  have  her  match'd :  and  having  now  provided 
A  gentleman  of  noble  parentage, 
Of  fair  demesnes,  youthful,  and  nobly  train'd, 
StufTd,  as  they  say,  with  honourable  parts, 
Proportion'd  as  one's  thought  would  wish  a  man; 
And  then  to  have  a  wretched  puling  fool, 
A  whining  mammet,  in  her  fortune's  tender, 
To  answer  '  I  '11  not  wed :  I  cannot  love. 


196  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

I  am  too  young ;  1  pray  you,  pardon  me.' 

But,  an  you  will  not  wed,  I  '11  pardon  you : 

Graze  where  you  will,  you  shall  not  house  with  me  : 

Look  to  't,  think  on  't,  I  do  not  use  to  jest. 

Thursday  is  near ;  lay  hand  on  heart,  advise : 

An  you  be  mine,  I  '11  give  you  to  my  friend ; 

An  you  be  not,  hang,  beg,  starve,  die  in  the  streets, 

F'or,  by  my  soul,  I  '11  ne'er  acknowledge  thee. 

Nor  what  is  mine  shall  never  do  thee  good  : 

Trust  to  't,  bethink  you ;  I  '11  not  be  forsworn.  [^ExiL 

Jill.     Is  there  no  pity  sitting  in  the  clouds. 
That  sees  into  the  bottom  of  my  grief  ? 
O,  sweet  my  mother,  cast  me  not  away  ! 
Delay  this  marriage  for  a  month,  a  week ; 
Or,  if  you  do  not,  make  the  bridal  bed 
In  that  dim  monument  where  Tybalt  lies. 

La.   Cap.     Talk  not  to  me,   for  I  "11  not  speak  a 
word : 
Do  as  thou  wilt,  for  I  have  done  with  thee.        \Exit. 

Jul.     O  God  !  — O  nurse,  how  shall  this  be  pre- 
vented? 
My  husband  is  on  earth,  my  faith  in  heaven; 
How  shall  that  faith  return  again  to  earth, 
Unless  that  husband  send  it  me  from  heaven 
By  leaving  earth?  comfort  me,  counsel  me. 
Alack,  alack,  that  heaven  should  practise  stratagems 
Upon  so  soft  a  subject  as  myself! 
What  say'st  thou?  hast  thou  not  a  word  of  joy? 
Some  comfort,  nurse? 


Romeo  and  Juliet,  197 


ACT  IV. 


JULIET'S    RESOLUTION. 

O,  bid  me  leap,  rather  than  marry  Paris, 

From  off  the  battlements  of  yonder  tower ; 

Or  walk  in  thievish  ways ;  or  bid  me  lurk 

Where  serpents  are  ;  chain  me  with  roaring  bears ; 

Or  shut  me  nightly  in  a  charnel-house, 

O'er-cover'd  quite  with  dead  men's  rattling  bones, 

With  reeky  shanks  and  yellow  chapless  skulls ; 

Or  bid  me  go  into  a  new-made  grave 

And  hide  me  with  a  dead  man  in  his  shroud ; 

Things    that,    to    hear   them    told,    have    made    me 

tremble ; 
And  I  will  do  it  without  fear  or  doubt. 
To  live  an  unstain'd  wife  to  my  sweet  love. 

JULIET'S    SOLILOQUY    ON    DRINKING   THE   OPIATE. 

Farewell  !     God  knows  when  we  shall  meet  again. 

I  have  a  faint  cold,  fear  thrills  through  my  veins, 

That  almost  freezes  up  the  heat  of  life  : 

I  '11  call  them  back  again  to  comfort  me : 

Nurse  !     What  should  she  do  here  ? 

My  dismal  scene  I  needs  must  act  alone. 

Come,  vial. 

What  if  this  mixture  do  not  work  at  all  ? 

Shall  I  be  married  then  to-morrow  morning? 

No,  no  :  this  shall  forbid  it :  lie  thou  there. 

\Laying  down  her  dagger. 


198  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

What  if  it  be  a  poisqn,  which  the  friar 

Subtly  hath  minister'd  to  have  me  dead, 

Lest  in  this  marriage  he  should  be  dishonour'd, 

Because  he  married  me  before  to  Romeo? 

I  fear  it  is :   and  yet,  methinks,  it  should  not, 

For  he  hath  still  been  tried  a  holy  man. 

How  if,  when  I  am  laid  into  the  tomb, 

I  wake  before  the  time  that  Romeo 

Come  to  redeem  me?  there  's  a  fearful  point ! 

Shall  I  not,  then,  be  stifled  in  the  vault, 

To  whose  foul  mouth  no  healthsome  air  breathes  in, 

And  there  die  strangled  ere  my  Romeo  comes? 

Or,  if  I  live,  is  it  not  very  like, 

The  horrible  conceit  of  death  and  night, 

Together  with  the  terror  of  the  place,  — 

As  in  a  vault,  an  ancient  receptacle. 

Where,  for  these  many  hundred  years,  the  bones 

Of  all  my  buried  ancestors  are  packM : 

Where  bloody  Tybalt,  yet  but  green  in  earth, 

Lies  festering  in  his  shroud ;  where,  as  they  say, 

At  some  hours  in  the  night  spirits  resort ;  — 

Alack,  alack,  is  it  not  like  that  I, 

So  early  waking,  what  with  loathsome  smells, 

And  shrieks  like  mandrakes'  torn  out  of  the  earth, 

That  living  mortals,  hearing  them,  run  mad:^ 

O,  if  I  wake,  shall  I  not  be  distraught,^ 

Environed  with  all  these  hideous  fears? 

1  The  fabulous  accounts  of  the  plant  called  a  mandrake  give  it 
a  degree  of  animal  life,  and  when  it  is  torn  from  the  ground  it 
groans,  which  is  fatal  to  him  that  pulls  it  up. 

s  Distracted. 


Romeo  and  Juliet,  199 

And  madly  play  with  my  forefathers'  joints? 
And  pluck  the  mangled  Tybalt  from  his  shroud? 
And,  in  this  rage,  with  some  great  kinsman's  bone. 
As  with  a  club,  dash  out  my  desperate  brains  ? 
O,  look !  methinks  I  see  my  cousin's  ghost 
Seeking  out  Romeo,  that  did  spit  his  body 
Upon  a  rapier's  point :   stay,  Tybalt,  stay  ! 
Romeo,  I  come  !  this  do  I  drink  to  thee. 

[She  falls  upo7i  her  bed,  within  the  curtain. 

JOY    CHANGED    TO    SORROW. 

All  things  that  we  ordained  festival, 
Turn  from  their  office  to  black  funeral ; 
Our  instruments  to  melancholy  bells, 
Our  wedding  cheer  to  a  sad  burial  feast, 
Our  solemn  hymns  to  sullen  dirges  change, 
Our  bridal  flowers  serve  for  a  buried  corse, 
And  all  things  change  them  to  the  contrary. 


ACT   V. 

ROMEO'S    DESCRIPTION    AND     DISCOURSE   WITH     THE 
APOTHECARY. 

Well,  Juliet,  I  will  lie  with  thee  to-night. 

Let 's  see  for  means  :  O  mischief,  thou  art  swift 

To  enter  in  the  thoughts  of  desperate  men  ! 

I  do  remember  an  apothecary,  — 

And  hereabouts  he  dwells,  — which  late  I  noted 

In  tatter'd  weeds,  with  overwhelming  brows, 


200  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Culling  of  simples  ;  ^  meagre  were  his  looks, 
Sharp  misery  had  worn  him  to  the  bones  : 
And  in  his  needy  shop  a  tortoise  hung, 
An  alligator  stuflPd,  and  other  skins 
Of  ill-shaped  fishes  ;  and  about  his  shelves 
A  beggarly  account  of  empty  boxes, 
Green  earthen  pots,  bladders  and  musty  seeds, 
Remnants  of  packthread  and  old  cakes  of  roses. 
Were  thinly  scattered,  to  make  up  a  show. 
Noting  this  penury,  to  myself  I  said 
'  And  if  a  man  did  need  a  poison  now. 
Whose  sale  is  present  death  in  Mantua, 
Here  lives  a  caitiff  wretch  would  sell  it  him.' 
O,  this  same  thought  did  but  forerun  my  need ; 
And  this  same  needy  man  must  sell  it  me. 
As  I  remember,  this  should  be  the  house. 
Being  holiday,  the  beggar's  shop  is  shut. 
What,  ho  !  apothecary  ! 

Enter  Apothecary. 

Apothecary.  Who  calls  so  loud? 

Rojueo.     Come  hither,  man.     I  see  that  thou  art 
poor : 
Hold,  there  is  forty  ducats :  let  me  have 
A  dram  of  poison,  such  soon-speeding  gear  ' 
As  will  disperse  itself  through  all  the  veins 
That  the  life-weary  taker  may  fall  dead 
And  that  the  trunk  may  be  discharged  of  breath 
As  violently  as  hasty  powder  fired 
Doth  hurry  from  the- fatal  cannon's  womb. 

1  Herbs.  «  Stuff. 


Romeo  and  Juliet,  201 

Ap.     Such  mortal  drugs  I  have ;  but  Mantua's  law 
Is  death  to  any  he  that  utters  them, 

Rom.     Art  thou  so  bare  and  full  of  wretchedness, 
And  fear'st  to  die  ?  famine  is  in  thy  cheeks, 
Need  and  oppression  starveth  in  thine  eyes, 
Contempt  and  beggary  hangs  upon  thy  back ; 
The  world  is  not  thy  friend  nor  the  world's  law ; 
The  world  affords  no  law  to  make  thee  rich ; 
Then  be  not  poor,  but  break  it,  and  take  this. 

Ap.     My  poverty,  but  not  my  will,  consents. 

Rom.     I  pay  thy  poverty,  and  not  thy  will. 

Ap.     Put  this  in  any  liquid  thing  you  will. 
And  drink  it  oif;  and,  if  you  had  the  strength 
Of  twenty  men,  it  would  dispatch  you  straight, 

Rom.     There  is  thy  gold,  worse  poison  to  men's 
souls, 
Doing  more  murders  in  this  loathsome  world, 
Than  these  poor  compounds  that  thou  mayst  not  sell. 
I  sell  thee  poison ;  thou  hast  sold  me  none. 
Farewell:   buy  food,  and  get  thyself  in  flesh, 

THE  CONTEST  OF  ROMEO  AND  PARIS. 

Parts.     Stop  thy  unhallow'd  toil,  vile  Montague  ! 
Can  vengeance  be  pursued  further  than  death  ? 
Condemned  villain,  I  do  apprehend  thee  : 
Obey,  and  go  with  me ;  for  thou  must  die. 

Romeo.     I    must    indeed ;    and   therefore    came  I 
hither. 
Good  gentle  youth,  tempt  not  a  desperate  man ; 
Fly  hence,  and  leave  m.e  :  think  upon  these  gone  ; 


202  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Let  them  affright  thee.     I  beseech  thee,  youth, 

Put  not  another  sin  upon  my  head. 

By  urging  me  to  fury :     O,  be  gone  ! 

By  heaven,  I  love  thee  better  than  myself; 

For  I  come  hither  arm'd  against  myself: 

Stay  not,  be  gone ;  live,  and  hereafter  say, 

A  madman's  mercy  bade  thee  run  away. 

Par.     I  do  defy  thy  conjurations,^ 
And  apprehend  thee  for  a  felon  here. 

Rom.     Wilt  thou  provoke  me?  then  have  at  thee, 
boy  !  \They  fight. 

Par.     O,  I  am  slain  !    \Falls.'\      If  thou  be  merci- 
fol, 
Open  the  tomb,  lay  me  with  Juliet.  \pies. 

Rom.     In  faith,  I  will.     Let  me  peruse  this  face. 
Mercutio's  kinsman,  noble  county  Paris  ! 
What  said  my  man,  when  my  betossed  soul 
Did  not  attend  him  as  we  rode.''     I  think 
He  told  me  Paris  should  have  married  Juliet : 
Said  he  not  so?  or  did  I  dream  it  so? 
Or  am  I  mad,  hearing  him  talk  of  Juliet, 
To  think  it  was  so?     O,  give  me  thy  hand, 
One  writ  with  me  in  sour  misfortune's  book  ! 


ROMEO'S   LAST   SPEECH    OVER   JULIET   IN   THE  TOMB 

O  my  love  !  my  wife  ! 
Death,  that  hath  suck'd  the  honey  of  thy  breath. 
Hath  had  no  power  yet  upon  thy  beauty : 

1 1  refuse  to  do  as  thou  conjurest  ine  to  do;  i.e.  depart. 


Romeo  and  JuHet,  203 

Thou  art  not  conquered ;  beauty''s  ensign  yet 

Is  crimson  in  thy  lips  and  in  thy  cheeks, 

And  death's  pale  flag  is  not  advanced  there. 

Tybalt,  liest  thou  there  in  thy  bloody  sheet? 

O,  what  more  favour  can  I  do  to  thee, 

Than  with  that  hand  that  cut  thy  youth  in  twain 

To  sunder  his  that  was  thine  enemy  ? 

Forgive  me,  cousin  !     Ah,  dear  Juliet, 

Why  art  thou  yet  so  fair?     Shall  I  believe 

That  unsubstantial  death  is  amorous. 

And  that  the  lean  abhorred  monster  keeps 

Thee  here  in  dark  to  be  his  paramour? 

For  fear  of  that,  I  still  will  stay  with  thee : 

And  never  from  this  palace  of  dim  night 

Depart  again  :   here,  here  will  I  remain 

With  worms  that  are  thy  chamber-maids  ;   O,  here 

Will  I  set  up  my  everlasting  rest. 

And  shake  the  yoke  of  inauspicious  stars 

From    this    world- wearied    flesh.     Eyes,    look    your 

bst ! 
Arms,  take  your  last  embrace  !  and  lips,  O  you 
The  doors  of  breath,  seal  with  a  righteous  kiss 
A  dateless  bargain  to  engrossing  death  ! 
Come,  bitter  conduct,*  come,  unsavoury  guide  ! 
Thou  desperate  pilot,  now  at  once  run  on 
The  dashing  rocks  thy  sea-sick  weary  bark  ! 
Here  's  to  my  love  !    [Drinks. '\      O  true  apothecary ! 
Thy  drugs  are  quick.     Thus  with  a  kiss  I  die. 

IDies. 

1  Conductor. 


TIMON    OF    ATHENS. 


ACT  I. 


PAINTING. 


The  painting  is  almost  the  natural  man ; 
For  since  dishonour  trafficks  with  man's  nature, 
He  is  but  outside :  these  pencill'd  figures  are 
Even  such  as  they  give  out.' 


THE  PLEASURE  OF  DOING  GOOD. 

O  you  gods,  think  I,  what  need  we  have  any  friends, 
if  we  should  ne'er  have  need  of  'em?  they  were  the 
most  needless  creatures  living,  should  we  ne'er  have 
use  for  'em,  and  would  most  resemble  sweet  instru- 
ments hung  up  in  cases  that  keep  their  sounds  to 
themselves.  Why,  I  have  often  wished  myself  poorer, 
that  I  might  come  nearer  to  you.  We  are  born  to 
do  benefits :  and  what  better  or  properer  can  we  call 
our  own  than  the  riches  of  our  friends?  O,  what  a 
precious  comfort  't  is,  to  have  so  many,  like  brothers, 
commanding  one  another's  fortunes  ! 

I  Pictures  have  no  hypocrisy;  they  are  what  they  profess  to  be. 


Timon  of  Athens,  205 


ACT  II. 

A   FAITHFUL    STEWARD. 

So  the  gods  bless  me, 
When  all  our  offices  ^  have  been  oppressed 
With  riotous  feeders,  when  our  vaults  have  wept 
With  drunken  spilth  of  wine,  when  every  room 
Hath  blazed  with  lights  and  bray'd  with  minstrelsy, 
I  have  retired  me  to  a  wasteful  cock,^ 
And  set  mine  eyes  at  flow. 

INGRATITUDE. 

They  answer,  in  a  joint  and  corporate  voice. 
That  now  they  are  at  fall,^  want  treasure,  cannot 
Do  what    they  would  ;    are  sorry  -^  you  are  honour- 
able, — 
But  yet  they  could  have  wish'd  —  they  know  not  — 
Something  hath  been  amiss  —  a  noble  nature 
May  catch    a   wrench  —  would  all  were  well  —  ''t  is 

pity ;  — 
And  so,  intending  *  other  serious  matters, 
After  distasteful  looks  and  these  hard  fractions,* 
With  certain  half-caps  ®  and  cold-moving  nods 
They  froze  me  into  silence. 

1  The  apartment  allotted  to  culinary  offices,  etc. 

2  A  pipe  with  a  turning  stopple  running  to  waste, 
s  i.e.  at  an  ebb. 

*  Intending'  had  anciently  the  same  meaning  as  attending. 

"  Broken  hints,  abrupt  remarks. 

8  A  half-cap  slightly  moved,  not  put  off. 


2o6  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


ACT  III. 

THE   MISERABLE    SHIFTS   OF   INGRATITUDE* 

Servilius.     My  honoured  lord,  —         \To  Lucius. 

Lticius.  Servilius  !  you  are  kindly  met,  sir.  Fare 
thee  well :  commend  me  to  thy  honourable  virtuous 
lord,  my  very  exquisite  friend. 

Ser.  May  it  please  your  honour,  my  lord  hath 
sent  — 

Lmc.  Ha  !  what  has  he  sent  ?  I  am  so  much 
endeared  to  that  lord  ;  he  's  ever  sending :  how  shall 
I  thank  him,  thinkest  thou?  And  what  has  he  sent 
now? 

Ser.  Has  only  sent  his  present  occasion  now,  my 
lord ;  requesting  your  lordship  to  supply  his  instant 
use  with  so  many  talents, 

Luc.    I  know  his  lordship  is  but  merry  with  me ; 
He  cannot  want  fifty-five  hundred  talents. 

Ser.    But  in  the  mean  time  he  wants  less,  my  lord. 
If  his  occasion  were  not  virtuous,' 
I  should  not  urge  it  half  so  faithfully. 

Luc.    Dost  thou  speak  seriously,  Servilius? 

Ser.    Upon  my  soul,  't  is  true,  sir. 

Luc.  What  a  wicked  beast  was  I  to  disfurnish  my- 
self against  such  a  good  time,  when  I  might  ha' 
shown  myself  honourable  !  how  unluckily  it  happened, 
that  I  should  purchase  the  day  before  for  a  little  part, 
and  undo  a  great  deal  of  honour !    Servilius,  now, 

1  "  If  he  did  not  want  it  for  a  good  use." 


.  V 


Timon  of  Athens,  207 

before  the  gods,  I  am  not  able  to  do,  —  the  more 
beast,  1  say :  —  I  was  sending  to  use  Lord  Timon 
myself,  these  gentlemen  can  witness ;  but  I  would 
not,  for  the  wealth  of  Athens,  I  had  done  't  now. 
Commend  me  bountifully  to  his  good  lordship ;  and 
I  hope  his  honour  will  conceive  the  fairest  of  me, 
because  I  have  no  power  to  be  kind :  and  tell  him 
this  from  me,  I  count  it  one  of  my  greatest  afflictions, 
say,  that  I  cannot  pleasure  such  an  honourable  gen- 
tleman. Good  Servilius,  will  you  befriend  me  so  far, 
as  to  use  mine  own  words  to  him? 

Ser.     Yes,  sir,  I  shall. 

Luc.     I  '11  look  you  out  a  good  turn,  Servilius. 

[^Exit  Servilius. 
True,  as  you  said,  Timon  is  shrunk  indeed  ; 
And  he  that 's  once  denied  will  hardly  speed. 

AGAINST   DUELLING. 

Your  words  have  took  such  pains  as  if  they  laboured 

To  bring  manslaughter  into  form  and  set  quarrelling 

Upon  the  head  of  valour ;  which  indeed 

Is  valour  misbegot  and  came  into  the  world 

When  sects  and  factions  were  newly  born : 

He  's  truly  valiant  that  can  wisely  suffer 

The  worst  that   man   can   breathe,    and    make    hi? 

wrongs 
His  outsides,  to  wear  them  like   his  raiment,   car*» 

lessly. 
And  ne'er  prefer  his  injuries  to  his  heart, 
To  bring  it  into  danger. 


2o8  Beauties  of  Shahspeare, 


ACT  IV. 

TIMON'S    execration   of    the   ATHENIANS. 

Scene.      Without  the  walls  of  Athens. 
Let  me  look  back  upon  thee.     O  thou  wall, 
That  girdlest  in  those  wolves,  dive  in  the  earth, 
And  fence  not  Athens  !     Matrons,  turn  incontinent ! 
Obedience  fail  in  children  !  slaves  and  fools, 
Pluck  the  grave  wrinkled  senate  from  the  bench. 
And  minister  in  their  steads  !  to  general  filths  ^ 
Convert  o'  the  instant,  green  virginity. 
Do  't  in  your  parents'  eyes  !  bankrupts,  hold  fast ; 
Rather  than  render  back,  out  with  your  knives. 
And  cut  your  trusters'  throats  !  bound  servants,  steal ! 
Large-handed  robbers  your  grave  masters  are, 
And  pill  by  law.     Maid,  to  thy  master's  bed ; 
Thy  mistress  is  o'  the  brothel !     Son  of  sixteen. 
Pluck  the  lined  crutch  from  thy  old  limping  sire, 
With  it  beat  out  his  brains  !     Piety,  and  fear, 
Religion  to  the  gods,  peace,  justice,  truth. 
Domestic  awe,  night-rest,  and  neighbourhood, 
Instruction,  manners,  mysteries,  and  trades, 
Degrees,  observances,  customs,  and  laws, 
Decline  to  your  confounding  contraries,'* 
And  let  confusion  live  !     Plagues,  incident  to  men. 
Your  potent  and  infectious  fevers  heap 
On  Athens,  ripe  for  stroke  !  thou  cold  sciatica, 

1  Common  sewers. 

*  i.e.  Contrarieties,  whose  nature  it  is  to  waste  or  destroy  each 
other. 


Timon  of  Athens.  209 

Cripple  our  senators,  that  their  limbs  may  halt 
As  lamely  as  their  manners  !  lust  and  liberty ' 
Creep  in  the  minds  and  marrows  of  our  youth, 
Tkat  'gainst  the  stream  of  virtue  they  may  strive. 
And  drown  themselves  in  riot !  itches,  blains, 
Sow  all  the  Athenian  bosoms ;  and  their  crop 
Be  general  leprosy  !     Breath  infect  breath, 
That  their  society,  as  their  friendship,  may 
Be  merely  poison !     Nothing  I  '11  bear  from  thee, 
But  nakedness,  thou  detestable  town ! 

A   FRIEND   FORSAKEN. 

As  we  do  turn  our  backs 
From  our  companion  thrown  into  his  grave, 
So  his  familiars  to  his  buried  fortunes 
Slink  all  away,  leave  their  false  vows  with  him. 
Like  empty  purses  pick'd ;  and  his  poor  self, 
A  dedicated  beggar  to  the  air, 
With  his  disease  of  all-shunn'd  poverty. 
Walks,  like  contempt,  alone. 

ON   GOLD. 

Earth,  yield  me  roots  !       \Diggme:. 
Who  seeks  for  better  of  thee,  sauce  his  palate 
With  thy  most  operant  poison  !     What  is  here  ? 
Gold?  yellow,  glittering,  precious  gold?     No,  gods, 
I  am  no  idle  votarist  :^  roots,  you  clear  heavens ! 

I  For  libertinism. 

'  No  insincere  or  inconstant  supplicant.     Gold  vrill  not  serve 
me  instead  of  roots. 


2IO  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Thus  much  of  this  will  make  black  white,  foul  fair, 
Wrong  right,  base  noble,  old  young,  coward  valiant. 
Ha,   you  gods!    why  this?     What  this,   you  gods? 

Why,  this 
Will  lug  your  priests  and  servants  from  your  sides. 
Pluck  stout  men's  pillows  from  below  their  heads : 
This  yellow  slave 

Will  knit  and  break  religions,  bless  the  accursed. 
Make  the  hoar  leprosy  adored,  place  thieves 
And  give  them  title,  knee  and  approbation 
With  senators  on  the  bench  :   this  is  it 
That  makes  the  wappen'd  ^  widow  wed  again ; 
She,  whom  the  spital-house  and  ulcerous  sores 
Would  cast  the  gorge  at,  this  embalms  and  spices 
To  the  April  day  again. ^     Come,  damned  earth, 
Thou  common  whore  of  mankind,  that  put'st  odds 
Among  the  rout  of  nations,  I  will  make  thee 
Do  thy  right  nature. 


TIMON   TO    ALCIBIADES. 

Go  on,  —  here  's  gold,  —  go  on  ; 
Be  as  a  planetary  plague,  when  Jove 
Will  o'er  some  high-viced  city  hang  his  poison 
In  the  sick  air :  let  not  thy  sword  skip  one : 
Pity  not  honour'd  age  for  his  white  beard ; 
He  is  an  usurer :  strike  me  the  counterfeit  matron ; 
It  is  her  habit  only  that  is  honest, 

i  Sorrowful. 

'  t.e.  Gold  restores  her  to   all  the  sweetness  and  freshness   ot 
youth. 


Timon  of  Athens.  211 

Herself  's  a  bawd  :  let  not  the  virgin's  cheek 
Make    soft    thy  trenchant  1  sword ;    for   those   milk- 
paps, 
That  through  the  window-bars  bore  at  men's  eyes, 
Are  not  within  the  leaf  of  pity  writ, 
But  set  them  down  horrible  traitors :   spare   not  the 

babe. 
Whose    dimpled    smiles    from    fools    exhaust    their 

mercy ; 
Think  it  a  bastard, "  whom  the  oracle 
Hath  doubtfully  pronounced  thy  throat  shall  cut. 
And  mince  it  sans  remorse  :  ^  swear  against  objects  ;* 
Put  armour  on  thine  ears  and  on  thine  eyes ; 
Whose  proof,  nor  yells  of  mothers,  maids,  nor  babes. 
Nor  sight  of  priests  in  holy  vestments  bleeding. 
Shall  pierce  a  jot.    There  's  gold  to  pay  thy  soldiers  : 
Make  large  confusion ;  and,  thy  fury  spent. 
Confounded  be  thyself!     Speak  not,  be  gone. 


TO    THE   COURTESANS. 

Consumptions  sow 
In  hollow  bones  of  man :  strike  their  sharp  shins. 
And  mar  men's  spurring.     Crack  the  lawyer's  voice. 
That  he  may  never  more  false  title  plead, 
Nor  sound  his  quillets  ^  shrilly :  hoar  the  flamen, 
That  scolds  against  the  quality  of  flesh, 

1  Cutting. 

2An  allusion  to  the  tale  of  Oedipus. 

8  Without  pity. 

*  i.e.  against  objects  of  charity  and  compassion. 

^Subtilties. 


212  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

And  not  believes  himself:   down  with  the  nose, 

Down  with  it  flat ;  take  the  bridge  quite  away 

Of  him  that,  his  particular  to  foresee, 

Smells   from    the   general   weal :     make   curPd-pate 

ruffians  bald ; 
And  let  the  unscarr'd  braggarts  of  the  war 
Derive  some  pain  from  you. 


HIS  REFLECTIONS  ON  THE  EARTH. 

That  nature,  being  sick  of  man's  unkindness. 
Should  yet  be  hungry  !     Common  mother,  thou, 

IDigging. 
Whose  womb  unmeasurable,  and  infinite  breast,  • 
Teems,  and  feeds  all ;  whose  self-same  mettle. 
Whereof  thy  proud  child,  arrogant  man,  is  pufF'd, 
Engenders  the  black  toad  and  adder  blue. 
The  gilded  newt  and  eyeless  venom'd  worm,'^ 
With  all  the  abhorred  births  below  crisp  ^  heaven 
Whereon  Hyperion's  quickening  fire  doth  shine ; 
Yield  him,  who  all  thy  human  sons  doth  hate, 
From  forth  thy  plenteous  bosom,  one  poor  root ! 
Ensear  thy  fertile  and  conceptions  womb. 
Let  it  no  more  bring  out  ingrateful  man  ! 
Go  great  with  tigers,  dragons,  wolves,  and  bears ; 
Teem  with  new  monsters,  whom  thy  upward  face 
Hath  to  the  marbled  mansion  all  above 
Never  presented  !  —  O,  a  root,  —  dear  thanks  !  — 
Dry  up  thy  marrows,  vines,  and  plough-torn  leas ; 

1  Boundless  surface. 

*  The  serpent  called  the  blind  worm.  »  Bent. 


Timon  of  Athens,  213 

Whereof  ingrateful  man,  with  liquorish  draughts 
And  morsels  unctuous,  greases  his  pure  mind, 
That  from  it  all  consideration  slips  ! 


HIS   DISCOURSE   WITH   APEMANTUS. 

Apemantus,    This  is  in  thee  a  nature  but  infected  ; 
A  poor  unmanly  melancholy  sprung 
From  change  of  fortune.     Why  this  spade  ?  this  place  ? 
This  slave-like  habit  ?  and  these  looks  of  care  ? 
Thy  flatterers  yet  wear  silk,  drink  wine,  lie  soft ; 
Hug  their  diseased  perfumes,'  a»d  have  forgot 
That  ever  Timon  was.     Shame  not  these  woods. 
By  putting  on  the  cunning  of  a  carper."^ 
Be  thou  a  flatterer  now,  and  seek  to  thrive 
By  that  which  has  undone  thee :   hinge  thy  knee. 
And  let  his  very  breath,  whom  thou  'It  observe. 
Blow  off"  thy  cap ;  praise  his  most  vicious  strain, 
And  call  it  excellent :   thou  wast  told  thus  ; 
Thou  gavest  thine  ears  like  tapsters  that  bid  welcome 
To  knaves  and  all  approachers  :   't  is  most  just 
That  thou  turn  rascal ;  hadst  thou  wealth  again. 
Rascals  should  have  't.     Do  not  assume  my  likeness. 

Timon.     Were  I  like  thee,  I  'Id  throw  away  myself. 

4pem.     Thou  hast  cast  away  thyself,  being  like 
thyself; 
A  madman  so  long,  now  a  fool.     What,  think'st 
That  the  bleak  air,  thy  boisterous  chamberlain, 
Will  put  thy  shirt  on  warm  ?   Will  these  moss'd  trees, 

*  i.e.  Their  diseased  perfumed  mistresses. 
'  i.e.  Shame  not  these  woods  by  finding  fault. 


214  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

That  have  outlived  the  eagle,  page  thy  heels, 

And  skip  where  thou  point'st  out?      Will  the  cold 

brook, 
Candied  with  ice,  caudle  thy  morning  taste, 
To  cure  thy  o'ernight's  surfeit?  call  the  creatures 
Whose  naked  natures  live  in  all  the  spite 
Of  wreakful  heaven,  whose  bare  unhoused  trunks, 
To  the  conflicting  elements  exposed. 
Answer  mere  nature  ;  bid  them  flatter  thee  ; 
O,  thou  shalt  find  — 

Tim.     Thou  art  a  slave,  whom  Fortune's  tender 
arm 
With  favour  never  clasped ;  but  bred  a  dog. 
Hadst  thou,  like  us  from  our  first  swarth,^  proceeded 
The  sweet  degrees  that  this  brief  world  affords 
To  such  as  may  the  passive  drugs  of  it 
Freely  command,  thou  wouldst  have  plunged  thyself 
In  general  riot ;   melted  down  thy  youth 
In  different  beds  of  lust ;  and  never  learn'd 
The  icy  precepts  of  respect,^  but  followed 
The  sugar'd  game  before  thee.     But  myself, 
Who  had  the  world  as  my  confectionary. 
The  mouths,  the  tongues,  the  eyes  and  hearts  of  men 
At  duty,  more  than  I  could  frame  employment, 
That  numberless  upon  me  stuck  as  leaves 
Do  on  the  oak,  have  with  one  winter's  brush 
Fell  from  their  boughs  and  left  me  open,  bare 
For  every  storm  that  blows :  I,  to  bear  this, 

1  From  infancy. 

'  The  cold  admonitions  of  cautious  prudence. 


Timon  of  Athens.  215 

That  never  knew  but  better,  i»  some  burden : 
Thy  nature  did  commence  in  sufferance,  time 
Hath  made  thee  hard  in  't.     Why  shouldst  thou  hate 

men? 
They  never  flattered  thee  :  what  hast  thou  given  ? 
If  thou  wilt  curse,  thy  father,  that  poor  rag. 
Must  be  thy  subject,  who  in  spite  put  stuff 
To  some  she  beggar  and  compounded  thee 
Poor  rogue  hereditary.      Hence,  be  gone  ! 
If  thou  hadst  not  been  born  the  worst  of  men, 
Thou  hadst  been  a  knave  and  flatterer. 


ON  GOip. 

[To  the  gold. 'I     O  thou  sweet  king-killer,  and  dear 

divorce 
'Twixt  natural  son  and  sire  !  thou  bright  defiler 
Of  Hymen's  purest  bed  !  thou  valiant  Mars  ! 
Thou  ever  young,  fresh,  loved  and  delicate  wooer, 
Whose  blush  doth  thaw  the  consecrated  snow 
That  lies  on  Dian's  lap  !  thou  visible  god. 
That  solder'st  close  impossibilities. 
And    makest    them  kiss !    that   speak'st   with  every 

tongue. 
To  every  purpose  !  O  thou  touch  ^  of  hearts  ! 
Think,  thy  slave  man  rebels,  and  by  thy  virtue 
Set  them  into  confounding  odds,  that  beasts 
May  have  the  world  in  empire  ! 

1  For  touchstone. 


2i6  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


TIMON    TO    THE    THIEVES. 

Why  should  you  want?  behold,  the  earth  hath  roots 
Within  tills  mile  break  forth  a  hundred  springs ; 
The  oaks  bear  mast,  the  briers  scarlet  hips : 
The  bounteous  housewife,  nature,  on  each  bush 
Lays  her  full  mess  before  you.     Want  !  why  want? 

ist  Bandit.     We  cannot  live  on  grass,  on  berries, 
water, 
As  beasts  and  birds  and  fishes. 

Timon.     Nor  on  the  beasts  themselves,  the  birds, 
and  fishes ; 
You  must  eat  men.     Yet  thanks  I  must  you  con 
That  you  are  thieves  professed,  that  you  work  not 
In  holier  shapes :  for  there  is  boundless  theft 
In  limited  ^  professions.     Rascal  thieves, 
Here 's   gold.     Go,    suck   the   subtle    blood   o'   the 

grape, 
Till  the  high  fever  seethe  your  blood  to  froth, 
And  so  'scape  hanging :  trust  not  the  physician ; 
His  antidotes  are  poison,  and  he  slays 
More  than  you  rob :  take  wealth  and  lives  together ; 
Do  villany,  do,  since  you  protest  to  do 't. 
Like  workmen.     I  Ul  example  you  with  thievery : 
The  sun  's  a  thief,  and  with  his  great  attraction 
Robs  the  vast  sea :  the  moon  's  an  arrant  thief. 
And  her  pale  fire  she  snatches  from  the  sun : 
The  sea  's  a  thief,  whose  liquid  surge  resolves 
The  moon  into  salt  tears :  the  earth  's  a  thief, 

1  For  legal. 


Timon  of  Athens,  217 

That  feeds  and  breeds  by  a  composture  ^  stolen 
From  general  excrement:  each  thing ^s  a  thief: 
The  laws,  your  curb  and  whip,  in  their  rough  power 
Have  uncheck'd  theft.     Love  not  yourselves :  away, 
Rob  one  another.    There  's  more  gold.     Cut  throats : 
All  that  you  meet  are  thieves  :  to  Athens  go, 
Break  open  shops  ;  nothing  can  you  steal, 
But  thieves  do  lose  it. 

ON   HIS    HONEST   STEWARD. 

Forgive  my  general  and  exceptless  rashness. 
You  perpetual-sober  gods  !  I  do  proclaim 
One  honest  man  - —  mistake  me  not  —  but  one  ; 
No  more,  I  pray,  —  and  he  's  a  steward. 
How  fain  would  I  have  hated  all  mankind  ! 
And  thou  redeem'st  thyself:  but  all,  save  thee, 
I  fell  with  curses. 

Methinks  thou  art  more  honest  now  than  wise ; 
For,  by  oppressing  and  betraying  me, 
Thou  mightst  have  sooner  got  another  service : 
For  many  so  arrive  at  second  masters, 
Upon  their  first  lord's  neck. 


ACT   V. 


PROMISING   AND   PERFORMANCE. 

Promising  is  the  very  air  o'  the  time  :  it  opens  the 
eyes  of  expectation :  performance  is  ever  the  duller 

1  Compost,  manure. 


2i8  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

for  his  act ;  and,  but  in  the  plainer  and  simpler  kind 
of  people,  the  deed  of  saying  *  is  quite  out  of  use. 
To  promise  is  most  courtly  and  fashionable :  per- 
formance is  a  kind  of  will  or  testament  which  argues 
a  great  sickness  in  his  judgment  that  makes  it. 

WRONG   AND    INSOLENCE. 

Now  breathless  wrong 
Shall  sit  and  pant  in  your  great  chairs  of  ease. 
And  pursy  insolence  shall  break  his  wind 
With  fear  and  horrid  flight. 

^  The  doing  of  that  we  said  we  would  do. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 
ACT  I. 

MERCY. 

Wilt  thou  draw  near  the  nature  of  the  gods  ? 
Draw  near  them  then  in  being  merciful : 
Sweet  mercy  is  nobility's  true  badge. 

THANKS. 

Thanks  to  men 
Of  noble  minds  is  honourable  meed. 


ACT   II. 

INVITATION   TO    LOVE. 

The  birds  chant  melody  on  every  bush. 
The  snake  lies  rolled  in  the  cheerful  sun, 
The  green  leaves  quiver  with  the  cooling  wind 
And  make  a  chequered  shadow  on  the  ground : 
Under  their  sweet  shade,  Aaron,  let  us  sit. 
And,  whilst  the  babbling  echo  mocks  the  hounds, 
Replying  shrilly  to  the  well-tuned  horns, 
As  if  a  double  hunt  were  heard  at  once, 


220  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Let  us  sit  down  and  mark  their  yelping  noise ; 
And,  after  conflict  such  as  was  supposed 
The  wandering  prince  and  Dido  once  enjoy'd. 
When  with  a  happy  storm  they  were  surprised 
And  curtained  with  a  counsel-keeping  cave, 
We  may,  each  wreathed  in  the  other's  arms. 
Our  pastimes  done,  possess  a  golden  slumber ; 
Whiles  hounds  and  horns  and  sweet  melodious  birds 
Be  unto  us  as  is  a  nurse's  song 
Of  lullaby  to  bring  her  babe  asleep. 

DESCRIPTION   OF   A    MELANCHOLY   VALLEY. 

A  barren  detested  vale,,  you  see  it  is ; 

The  trees,  though  summer,  yet  forlorn  and  lean. 

Overcome  with  moss  and  baleful  mistletoe  : 

Here  never  shines  the  sun  ;  here  nothing  breeds, 

Unless  the  nightly  owl  or  fatal  raven : 

And  when  they  showed  me  this  abhorred  pit, 

They  told  me,  here,  at  dead  time  of  the  night, 

A  thousand  fiends,  a  thousand  hissing  snakes, 

Ten  thousand  swelling  toads,  as  many  urchins,' 

Would  make  such  fearful  and  confused  cries 

As  any  mortal  body  hearing  it 

Should  straight  fall  mad,  or  else  die  suddenly. 

DESCRIPTION   OF   A   RING. 

Upon  his  bloody  finger  he  doth  wear 

A  precious  ring,  that  lightens  all  the  hole, 

*  Hedge-hogs 


Titus  Andronicus,  221 

Which,  like  a  taper  in  some  monument, 

Doth  shine  upon  the  dead  man's  earthy  cheeks, 

And  shows  the  ragged  entrails  of  the  pit. 

LAVINIA   AND    HER   LUTE. 

Fair  Philomela,  she  but  lost  her  tongue. 

And  in  a  tedious  sampler  sew'd  her  mind : 

But,  lovely  niece,  that  mean  is  cut  from  thee ; 

A  craftier  Tereus,  cousin,  hast  thou  met, 

And  he  hath  cut  those  pretty  fingers  off. 

That  could  have  better  sew'd  than  Philomel. 

O,  had  the  monster  seen  those  lily  hands 

Tremble,  like  aspen-leaves,  upon  a  lute. 

And  make  the  silken  strings  delight  to  kiss  them, 

He  would  not  then  have  touch'd  them  for  his  life  ! 

Or,  had  he  heard  the  heavenly  harmony 

Which  that  sweet  tongue  hath  made, 

He  would  have  dropp'd  his  knife,  and  fell  asleep 

As  Cerberus  at  the  Thracian  poet's  ^  feet. 


ACT  III. 

lavinia's  loss  of  her  tongue  described. 

O,  that  delightful  engine  of  her  thoughts. 
That  blabb'd  them  with  such  pleasing  eloquence, 
Is  torn  from  forth  that  pretty  hollow  cage, 
Where,  like  a  sweet  melodious  bird,  it  sung 
Sweet  varied  notes,  enchanting  every  ear ! 

1  Orpheus. 


2  22  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 


DESPAIR. 

For  now  I  stand  as  one  upon  a  rock 
Environ'd  with  a  wilderness  of  sea, 
Who  marks  the  waxing  tide  grow  wave  by  wave, 
Expecting  ever  when  some  envious  surge 
Will  in  his  brinish  bowels  swallow  him. 

TEARS. 

When  I  did  name  her  brothers,  then  fresh  tears 
Stood  on  her  cheeks,  as  doth  the  honey  dew 
Upon  a  gathered  lily  almost  witherM. 

CRUELTY    TO    INSECTS. 

Marcus.    Alas,  my  lord,  I  have  but  kilPd  a  fly. 

Tzl7is.     But   how,    if    that   fly  had   a   father   and 
mother? 
How  would  he  hang  his  slender  gilded  wings, 
And  buzz  lamenting  doings  in  the  air  ! 
Poor  harmless  fly, 

That,  with  his  pretty  buzzing  melody, 
Came  here  to  make  us  merry !  and  thou  hast  kill'd 

him. 

ACT  V. 

REVENGE. 

Lo,  by  thy  side  where  Rape  and  Murder  stand ; 
Now  give  some  surance  that  thou  art  Revenge, 


Titus  Andronicus.  223 

Stab  them,  or  tear  them  on  thy  chariot-wheels; 
And  then  I  '11  come  and  be  thy  waggoner, 
And  whirl  along  with  thee  about  the  globe. 
Provide  thee  two  proper  palfries,  black  as  jet, 
To  hale  thy  vengeful  waggon  swift  away, 
And  find  out  murderers  in  their  guilty  caves : 
And  when  thy  car  is  loaden  with  their  heads, 
I  will  dismount,  and  by  the  waggon-wheel 
Trot,  like  a  servile  footman,  all  day  long, 
Even  from  Hyperion's  rising  in  the  east 
Until  his  very  downfall  in  the  sea. 


TROILUS    AND    CRESSIDA. 
ACT  I. 

LOVE  IN  A  BRAVE  YOUNG  SOLDIER. 

Call  here  my  varlet ;  M  '11  unarm  again : 
Why  should  I  war  without  the  walls  of  Troy, 
That  find  such  cruel  battle  here  within? 
Each  Trojan  that  is  master  of  his  heart, 
Let  him  to  field;  Troilus,  alas  !  hath  none. 

The  Greeks  are  strong  and  skilful  to  their  strength. 
Fierce  to  their  skill  and  to  their  fierceness  valiant ; 
But  I  am  weaker  than  a  woman's  tear. 
Tamer  than  sleep,  fonder  ^  than  ignorance. 
Less  valiant  than  the  virgin  in  the  night 
And  skilless  as  unpractised  infancy. 

O  Pandarus  !  I  tell  thee,  Pandarus,  — 

When  I  do  tell  thee,  there  my  hopes  lie  drown'd, 

Reply  not  in  how  many  fathoms  deep 

They  lie  indrench'd.     I  tell  thee  I  am  mad 

In  Cressid's  love  :  thou  answer'st  '  She  is  fair ; ' 

Pour'st  in  the  open  ulcer  of  my  heart 

1  A  servant  to  a  knight.  2  Weaker. 


Troilus  and  Cressida,  225 

Her  eyes,  her  hair,  her  cheek,  her  gait,  her  voice, 
Handiest  in  thy  discourse,  O,  that  her  hand. 
In  whose  comparison  all  whites  are  ink. 
Writing  their  own  reproach,  to  whose  soft  seizure 
The  cygnet's  down  is  harsh  and  spirit  of  sense 
Hard  as  the  palm  of  ploughmen  :   this  thou  telPst  me. 
As  true  thou  telPst  me,  when  I  say  I  love  her ; 
But,  saying  thus,  instead  of  oil  and  balm, 
Thou  lay'st  in  every  gash  that  love  hath  given  me 
The  knife  that  made  it. 


SUCCESS  NOT  EQUAL  TO  OUR  HOPES. 

The  ample  proposition  that  hope  makes 

In  all  designs  begun  on  earth  below 

Fails  in  the  promised  largeness  :  checks  and  disasters 

Grow  in  the  veins  of  actions  highest  rear'd, 

As  knots,  by  the  conflux  of  meeting  sap. 

Infect  the  sound  pine  and  divert  his  grain 

Tortive  and  errant  *  from  his  course  of  growth. 

ADVERSITY   THE    TRIAL   OF    MAN. 

Why  then,  you  princes, 
Do  you  with  cheeks  abash'd  behold  our  works. 
And  call  them  shames  ?  which  are  indeed  nought  else 
But  the  protractive  trials  of  great  Jove 
To  find  persistive  constancy  in  men : 
The  fineness  of  which  metal  is  not  found 
In  fortune's  love ;  for  then  the  bold  and  coward, 

1  Twisted  and  rambling. 


226  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

The  wise  and  fool,  the  artist  and  unread, 
The  hard  and  soft,  seem  all  affined '  and  kin : 
But,  in  the  wind  and  tempest  of  her  frown, 
Distinction,  with  a  broad  and  powerful  fan, 
Puffing  at  all,  winnows  the  light  away ; 
And  what  hath  mass  or  matter,  by  itself 
Lies  rich  in  virtue  and  unmingled. 

ON   DEGREE. 

Take  but  degree  away,  untune  that  string. 

And,  hark,  what  discord  follows  !  each  thing  meets 

In  mere  *  oppugnancy  :   the  bounded  waters 

Should  lift  their  bosoms  higher  than  the  shores 

And  make  a  sop  of  all  this  solid  globe : 

Strength  should  be  lord  of  imbecility, 

And  the  rude  son  should  strike  his  father  dead : 

Force  should  be  right ;  or  rather,  right  and  wrong. 

Between  whose  endless  jar  justice  resides. 

Should  lose  their  names,  and  so  should  justice  too. 

Then  every  thing  includes  itself  in  power, 

Power  into  will,  will  into  appetite ; 

And  appetite,  an  universal  wolf. 

So  doubly  seconded  with  will  and  power. 

Must  make  perforce  an  universal  prey, 

And  last  eat  up  himself. 

ACHILLES   DESCRIBED    BY   ULYSSES. 

The  great  Achilles,  whom  opinion  crowns 
The  sinew  and  the  forehand  of  our  host, 

1  Joined  by  affinity.  «  Absolute. 


Troilus  and  Cressida.  227 

Having  his  ear  full  of  his  airy  fame, 

Grows  dainty  of  his  worth  and  in  his  tent 

Lies  mocking  our  designs :   with  him  Patroclus 

Upon  a  lazy  bed  the  livelong  day 

Breaks  scurril  jests, 

And  with  ridiculous  and  awkward  action, 

Which,  slanderer,  he  imitation  calls. 

He  pageants  ^  us.      Sometime,  great  Agamemnon, 

Thy  topless  ^  deputation  he  puts  on, 

And,  like  a  strutting  player,  whose  conceit 

Lies  in  his  hamstring,  and  doth  think  it  rich 

To  hear  the  wooden  dialogue  and  sound 

'Twixt  his  stretch'd  footing  and  the  scaffoldage,^  — 

Such  to-be-pitied  and  o'er-wrested  seeming 

He  acts  thy  greatness  in :  and  when  he  speaks, 

'T  is  like  a  chime  a-mending  ;  with  terms  unsquared,* 

Which,  from  the  tongue  of  roaring  Typhon  dropped. 

Would  seem  hyperboles.     At  this  fusty  stuff 

The  large  Achilles,  on  his  pressed  bed  lolling, 

From  his  deep  chest  laughs  out  a  loud  applause ; 

Cries  '  Excellent !  't  is  Agamemnon  just. 

Now  play  me  Nestor ;  hem,  and  stroke  thy  beard, 

As  he  being  drest  to  some  oration.' 

That 's  done,  as  near  as  the  extremest  ends 

Of  parallels,  as  like  as  Vulcan  and  his  wife : 

Yet  god  Achilles  still  cries  '  Excellent ! 

'T  is  Nestor  right.     Now  play  him  me,  Patroclus, 

Arming  to  answer  in  a  night  alarm.' 

1  In  modern  language,  takes  us  off. 

*  Supreme.  3  'J'he  galleries  of  the  theatre. 

*  Beyond  the  truth.    Unadapted. 


2  28  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

And  then,  forsooth,  the  faint  defects  of  age 
Must  be  the  scene  of  mirth ;  to  cough  and  spit. 
And,  with  a  palsy-fumbHng  on  his  gorget. 
Shake  in  and  out  the  rivet :  and  at  this  sport 
Sir  Valour  dies;  cries  '  O,  enough,  Patroclus ; 
Or  give  me  ribs  of  steel !     I  shall  split  all 
In  pleasure  of  my  spleen.'     And  in  this  fashion. 
All  our  abilities,  gifts,  natures,  shapes, 
Severals  and  generals  of  grace  exact, 
Achievements,  plots,  orders,  preventions. 
Excitements  to  the  field,  or  speech  for  truce, 
Success  or  loss,  what  is  or  is  not,  serves 
As  stuff  for  these  two  to  make  paradoxes. 

CONDUCT    IN   WAR    SUPERIOR    TO    ACTION. 

The  still  and  mental  parts. 
That  do  contrive  how  many  hands  shall  strike. 
When  fitness  calls  them  on,  and  know  by  measure 
Of  their  observant  toil  the  enemies'  weight,  — 
Why,  this  hath  not  a  finger's  dignity : 
They  call  this  bed-work,  mappery,  closet-war; 
So  that  the  ram  that  batters  down  the  wall. 
For  the  great  swing  and  rudeness  of  his  poise. 
They  place  before  his  hand  that  made  the  engine. 
Or  those  that  with  the  fineness  of  their  souls 
By  reason  guide  his  execution. 

RESPECT. 

I  ask,  that  I  might  waken  reverence. 
And  bid  the  cheek  be  ready  with  a  blush 


Troilus  and  Cressida.  229 

Modest  as  morning  when  she  coldly  eyes 
The  youthful  Phoebus. 


ACT    II. 

DOUBT. 

The  wound  of  peace  is  surety, 
Surety  secure  ;  but  modest  doubt  is  call'd 
The  beacon  of  the  wise,  the  tent  that  searches 
To  the  bottom  of  the  worst. 


PLEASURE   AND   REVENGE. 

For  pleasure  and  revenge 
Have  ears  more  deaf  than  adders  to  the  voice 
Of  any  true  decision. 

THE   SUBTILTY    OF    ULYSSES,    AND    STUPIDITY   OF 
AJAX. 

Ajax.     I  do  hate  a  proud  man,  as  I  hate  the  en- 
gendering of  toads. 

Nestor.     Yet  he  loves  himself:  is  't  not  strange? 

\_Aside. 

Ulysses.     Achilles  will  not  to  the  field  to-morrow. 

Agamermiou.     What's  his  excuse? 

Ulyss.  He  doth  rely  on  none, 

But  carries  on  the  stream  of  his  dispose 
Without  observance  or  respect  of  any, 
In  will  peculiar  and  in  self-admission. 


230  Beauties  of  Shahspeare, 

Again.     Why  will  he  not  upon  our  fair  request 
Untent  his  person  and  share  the  air  with  us? 

Ulyss.     Things  small  as  nothing,  for  request's  sake 
only, 
He  makes  important :  possessed  he  is  with  greatness, 
And  speaks  not  to  himself  but  with  a  pride 
That  quarrels  at  self-breath  :  imagined  worth 
Holds  in  his  blood  such  swoln  and  hot  discourse 
That  'twixt  his  mental  and  his  active  parts 
Kingdom'd  Achilles  in  commotion  rages 
And  batters  down  himself:  what  should  I  say? 
He  is  so  plaguy  proud  that  the  death-tokens  of  it 
Cry,  *  No  recovery.' 

Agam.  Let  Ajax  go  to  him. 

Dear  lord,  go  you  and  greet  him  in  his  tent : 
'T  is  said  he  holds  you  well,  and  will  be  led 
At  your  request  a  little  from  himself. 

Ulyss.     O  Agamemnon,  let  it  not  be  so ! 
We  '11  consecrate  the  steps  that  Ajax  makes 
When  they  go  from  Achilles :  shall  the  proud  lord 
That  bastes  his  arrogance  with  his  own  seam  ' 
And  never  suffers  matter  of  the  world 
Enter  his  thoughts,  save  such  as  do  revolve 
And  ruminate  himself,  shall  he  be  worshipp'd 
Of  that  we  hold  an  idol  more  than  he? 
No,  this  thrice  worthy  and  right  valiant  lord 
Must  not  so  stale  his  palm,  nobly  acquired ; 
Nor,  by  my  will,  assubjugate  his  merit, 
As  amply  titled  as  Achilles  is, 
By  going  to  Achilles  : 

»Fat. 


Troilus  and  Cressida.  231 

That  were  to  enlard  his  fat  already  pride 

And  add  more  coals  to  Cancer  '  when  he  burns 

With  entertaining  great  Hyperion. 

This  lord  go  to  him  !     Jupiter  forbid, 

And  say  in  thunder  '  Achilles  go  to  him.' 

JVesL      [Aside  to  Diojnedes.~\      O,  this  is  well ;   he 

rubs  the  vein  of  him. 
Diomedes.       [Aside    to  Nestor. '\      And    how    his 

silence  drinks  up  this  applause ! 
Ajax.     If  I  go  to  him,  with  my  armed  fist    I  '11 
pash  2  him 
O'er  the  face. 

Again.  O,  no,  you  shall  not  go. 

Ajax.     And  a'  be  proud  with  me,  I  "11  pheeze  ^  his 
pride : 
Let  me  go  to  him. 

Ulyss.    Not  for  the  worth  that  hangs  upon  our 

quarrel. 
Ajax.     A  paltry,  insolent  fellow  !  — 
Nest.  How  he  describes 

Himself! 

Ajax.     Can  he  not  be  sociable? 
Ulyss.  The  raven 

Chides  blackness. 

Ajax.  I  '11  let  his  humours  blood. 

Agam.  He  will  be  the  physician  that  should  be 
the  patient. 

iThe  sign  in  the  zodiac  into  which  the  sun  enters  June  2ist. 
'•  And  Cancer  reddens  with  the  solar  blaze."  —  Thomson. 
2  Strike.  »  Comb,  or  curry. 


232  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Ajar.     An  all  men 
Were  o'  my  mind,  — 

Ulyss.  Wit  would  be  out  of  fashion. 

Ajar.     A'  should  not  bear  it  so, 
A'  should  eat  swords  first :  shall  pride  carry  it  ? 
Nest.     An  't  would,  you  Ud  carry  half. 
Ulyss.  A'  would  have  ten  shares. 

Ajax.     I  will  knead  him  ;  I  '11  make  him  supple. 
Nest.     He  's  not   yet  through  warm :    force  '   him 
with  praises : 
Pour  in,  pour  in ;   his  ambition  is  dry. 

Ulyss.      \To  Again. '\    My  lord,  you  feed  too  much 

on  this  dislike. 
Nest.     Our  noble  general,  do  not  do  so. 
Dio.     You  must  prepare  to  fight  without  Achilles. 
Ulyss.     Why,  \  is   this  naming  of  him  does  him 
harm. 
Here  is  a  man  —  but  't  is  before  his  face ; 
I  will  be  silent. 

Nest.  Wherefore  should  you  so  ? 

He  is  not  emulous,^  as  Achilles  is. 

Ulyss.     Know  the  whole  world,  he  is  as  valiant. 
Ajax.     A  whoreson  dog,   that  shall  palter  ^  thus 
with  us  ! 
Would  he  were  a  Trojan  ! 

Nest.     What  a  vice  were  it  in  Ajax  now, — 
Ulyss.  If  he  were  proud,  — 

Dio.     Or  covetous  of  praise,  — 
Ulyss.  Ay,  or  surly  borne,  — 

Dio.     Or  strange,  or  self-aifected  ! 

1  Stuff.  2  Envious.  »  Trifle. 


Troilus  and  Cressida,  233 

Ulyss.     Thank  the  heavens,  lord,  thou  art  of  sweet 
composure ; 
Praise  him  that  got  thee,  she  that  gave  thee  suck : 
Famed  be  thy  tutor,  and  thy  parts  of  nature 
Thrice  famed,  beyond  all  erudition : 
But  he  that  disciplined  thy  arms  to  fight, 
Let  Mars  divide  eternity  in  twain, 
And  give  him  half:   and,  for  thy  vigour, 
Bull-bearing  Milo  his  addition  '  yield 
To  sinewy  Ajax.     I  will  not  praise  thy  wisdom, 
Which,  like  a  bourn, ^  a  pale,  a  shore,  confines 
Thy  spacious  and  dilated  parts  :  here  's  Nestor ; 
Instructed  by  the  antiquary  times, 
He  must,  he  is,  he  cannot  but  be  wise : 
But  pardon,  father  Nestor,  were  your  days 
As  green  as  Ajax'  and  your  brain  so  tempered, 
You  should  not  have  the  eminence  of  him. 
But  be  as  Ajax. 

Ajax.  Shall  I  call  you  father? 

Nest.     Ay,  my  good  son. 

Dio.  Be  ruled  by  him,  lord  Ajax. 

Ulyss.     There    is    no    tarrying    here ;     the    hart 
Achilles 
Keeps  thicket.     Please  it  our  great  general 
To  call  together  all  his  state  of  war ; 
Fresh  kings  are  come  to  Troy :   to-morrow 
We  must  with  all  our  main  of  power  stand  fast : 
And   here  's  a  lord,  —  come  knights    from    east    to 

west. 
And  cull  their  flower,  Ajax  shall  cope  the  best. 

1  Tides.  *  Stream,  rivulet. 


234  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Agam.     Go  we  to  council.     Let  Achilles  sleep : 
Light  boats   sail    swift,  though   greater   hulks  draw 
deep. 


ACT  in. 

AN    EXPECTANT   LOVER. 

No,  Pandarus  :   I  stalk  -about  her  door. 
Like  a  strange  soul  upon  the  Stygian  banks 
Staying  for  waftage.     O,  be  thou  my  Charon, 
And  give  me  swift  transportance  to  those  fields 
Where  I  may  wallow  in  the  lily-beds 
Proposed  for  the  deserver !  O  gentle  Pandarus, 
From  Cupid^s  shoulder  pluck  his  painted  wings. 
And  fly  with  me  to  Cressid  ! 

I  am  giddy;  expectation  whirls  me  round. 

The  imaginary  relish  is  so  sweet 

That  it  enchants  my  sense  :   what  will  it  be, 

When  that  the  watery  palate  tastes  indeed 

Love's  thrice  repured  nectar?  death,  I  fear  me, 

Swooning  destruction,  or  some  joy  too  fine. 

Too  subtle-potent,  tuned  too  sharp  in  sweetness, 

For  the  capacity  of  my  ruder  powers  : 

I  fear  it  much  ;  and  I  do  fear  besides. 

That  I  shall  lose  distinction  in  my  joys ; 

As  doth  a  battle,  when  they  charge  on  heaps 

The  enemy  flying. 

Even  such  a  passion  doth  embrace  my  bosom : 


Troiliis  and  Cressida,  235 

My  heart  beats  thicker  than  a  feverous  pulse ; 
And  all  my  powers  do  their  bestowing  lose, 
Like  vassalage  at  unawares  encountering 
The  eye  of  majesty. 

CONSTANCY  IN  LOVE  PROTESTED. 

Troilus.     True  swains  in  love  shall  in  the  world 
to  come 
Approve  their  tmths  by  Troilus :  when  their  rhymes. 
Full  of  protest,  of  oath  and  big  compare, ' 
Want  similes,  truth  tired  with  iteration. 
As  true  as  steel,  as  plantage  to  the  moon, 
As  sun  to  day,  as  turtle  to  her  mate. 
As  iron  to  adamant,  as  earth  to  the  centre, 
Yet,  after  all  comparisons  of  truth. 
As  truth's  authentic  author  to  be  cited, 
*  As  true  as  Troilus '  shall  crown  up  2  the  verse, 
And  sanctify  the  numbers. 

Cressida.  Prophet  may  you  be  ! 

If  I  be  false,  or  swerve  a  hair  from  truth, 
When  time  is  old  and  hath  forgot  itself. 
When  waterdrops  have  worn  the  stones  of  Troy, 
And  blind  oblivion  swallowed  cities  up, 
And  mighty  states  characterless  are  grated 
To  dusty  nothing,  yet  let  memory. 
From  false  to  false,  among  false  maids  in  love, 
Upbraid  my  falsehood  !  when  they  Ve  said  '  as  false 
As  air,  as  water,  wind,  or  sandy  earth, 
As  fox  to  lamb,  as  wolf  to  heifer's  calf, 

1  Comparison.  2  Conclude  it. 


236  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

Pard  to  the  hind,  or  stepdame  to  her  son,' 

'  Yea,'  let  them  say,  to  stick  the  heart  of  falsehood, 

'  As  false  as  Cressid.' 


PRIDE   CURES   PRIDE. 

Pride  hath  no  other  glass 
To  show  itself  but  pride,  for  supple  knees 
Feed  arrogance  and  are  the  proud  man's  fees. 

GREATNESS   CONTEMPTIBLE   WHEN  ON  THE  DECLINE. 

'T  is  certain,  greatness,  once  fall'n  out  with  fortune, 

Must  fall  out  with  men  too :  what  the  declined  is 

He  shall  as  soon  read  in  the  eyes  of  others 

As  feel  in  his  own  fall ;  for  men,  like  butterflies, 

Show  not  their  mealy  wings  but  to  the  summer, 

And  not  a  man,  for  being  simply  man. 

Hath  any  honour,  but  honour  for  those  honours 

That  are  without  him,  as  place,  riches,  favour. 

Prizes  of  accident  as  oft  as  merit : 

Which  when  they  fall,  as  being  slippery  standers. 

The  love  that  lean'd  on  them  as  slippery  too. 

Do  one  pluck  down  another  and  together 

Die  in  the  fall. 

HONOUR  MUST  BE  ACTIVE  TO  PRESERVE  ITS    LUSTRE. 

Time  hath,  my  lord,  a  wallet  at  his  back. 

Wherein  he  puts  alms  for  oblivion, 

A  great-sized  monster  of  ingratitudes  : 

Those  scraps  are  good  deeds  past ;  which  are  devour 'd 


Troilus  and  Cressida.  237 

As  fast  as  they  are  made,  forgot  as  soon 

As  done :  perseverance,  dear  my  lord, 

Keeps  honour  bright :  to  have  done  is  to  hang 

Quite  out  of  fashion,  Hke  a  rusty  mail 

In  monumental  mockery.     Take  the  instant  way ; 

For  honour  travels  in  a  strait  so  narrow. 

Where  one  but  goes  abreast :  keep  then  the  path ; 

For  emulation  hath  a  thousand  sons  » 

That  one  by  one  pursue :  if  you  give  way, 

Or  hedge  aside  from  the  direct  forthright. 

Like  to  an  entered  tide,  they  all  rush  by 

And  leave  you  hindmost ; 

Or,  like  a  gallant  horse  falPn  in  first  rank, 

Lie  there  for  pavement  to  the  abject  rear, 

O'er-run  and    trampled  on :    then  what    they    do    in 

present, 
Though  less  than  yours  in  past,  must  o'ertop  yours ; 
For  Time  is  like  a  fashionable  host 
That  slightly  shakes  his  parting  guest  by  the  hand, 
And  with  his  arms  outstretched,  as  he  would  fly, 
Grasps  in  the  comer :  welcome  ever  smiles, 
And  farewell  goes  out  sighing.     O,  let  not  virtue  seek 
Remuneration  for  the  thing  it  was ; 
For  beauty,  wit. 

High  birth,  vigour  of  bone,  desert  in  service, 
Love,  friendship,  charity,  are  subjects  all 
To  envious  and  calumniating  time. 
One  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world  kin. 
That  all  with  one  consent  praise  new-born  gawds,* 
Though  they  are  made  and  moulded  of  things  past, 

1  New-fashioned  toys. 


238  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

And  give  to  dust  that  is  a  little  gilt 

More  laud  than  gilt  o'er-dusted. 

The  present  eye  praises  the  present  object. 


LOVE  SHOOK  OFF  BY  A  SOLDIER. 

Sweet,  rouse  yourself;  and  the  weak  wanton  Cupid 
Shall  from  your  neck  unloose  his  amorous  fold, 
And,  like  a  dew-drop  from  the  lion^s  mane, 
Be  shook  to  air. 


THERSITES    MIMICKING   AJAX. 

Thersites.     A  wonder ! 

Achilles.     What? 

Ther.  Ajax  goes  up  and  down  the  field,  asking 
for  himself. 

Achil.     How  so? 

Ther.  He  must  fight  singly  to-morrow  with  Hec- 
tor, and  is  so  prophetically  proud  of  an  heroical 
cudgelling  that  he   raves   in   saying  -nothing. 

Achil.     How  can  that  be? 

Ther.  Why,  he  stalks  up  and  down  like  a  pea- 
cock, —  a  stride  and  a  stand :  ruminates  like  an 
hostess  that  hath  no  arithmetic  but  her  brain  to  set 
down  her  reckoning :  bites  his  lip  with  a  politic  re- 
gard, as  who  should  say  '  There  were  wit  in  this 
head,  and  't  would  out ; '  and  so  there  is,  but  it  lies 
as  coldly  in  him  as  fire  in  a  flint,  which  will  not  show 
without  knocking.  The  man's  undone  for  ever;  for 
if  Hector  break  not  his  neck  i'  the  combat,  he'll 
break 't  himself  in  vain-glory.     He  knows  not  me  :  I 


Troilus  and  Cressida,  239 

said  '  Good  morrow,  Ajax;'  and  he  replies  '  Thanks, 
Agamemnon.'  What  think  you  of  this  man  that 
takes  me  for  the  general  ?  He 's  grown  a  very  land- 
fish,  languageless,  a  monster.  A  plague  of  opinion  ! 
a  man  may  wear  it  on  both  sides,  like  a  leather 
jerkin. 

Achil.  Thou  must  be  my  ambassador  to  him, 
Thersites. 

Ther.  Who,  I  ?  Why,  he  '11  answer  nobody  ;  he 
professes  not  answering  :  speaking  is  for  beggars  ;  he 
wears  his  tongue  in 's  arms.  I  will  put  on  his  pres- 
ence :  let  Patroclus  make  demands  to  me,  you  shall 
see  the  pageant  of  Ajax. 

Achil.  To  him,  Patroclus :  tell  him  I  humbly  de- 
sire the  valiant  Ajax  to  invite  the  most  valorous 
Hector  to  come  unarmed  to  my  tent,  and  to  procure 
safe-conduct  for  his  person  of  the  magnanimous  and 
most  illustrious  six-or-seven-times-honoured  captain- 
general  of  the  Grecian  army,  Agamemnon,  et  cetera. 
Do  this. 

Patroclus.     Jove  bless  great  Ajax  ! 

Ther.     Hum ! 

Pair.     I  come  from  the  worthy  Achilles,  — 

Ther.     Ha ! 

Pair.  Who  most  humbly  desires  you  to  invite 
Hector  to  his  tent,  — 

Ther.     Hum ! 

Pair.  And  to  procure  safe-conduct  from  Aga- 
memnon. 

Ther.     Agamemnon ! 

Pair.     Ay,  my  lord. 


240  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

Ther.     Ha ! 

Pair.     What  say  you  to  't  ? 

Ther.     God  b^  wi'  you,  with  all  my  heart. 

Patr.     Your  answer,  sir. 

Ther,  If  to-morrow  be  a  fair  day,  by  eleven 
o'clock  it  will  go  one  way  or  other :  howsoever,  he 
shall  pay  for  me  ere  he  has  me. 

Patr.     Your  answer,  sir. 

Ther.     Fare  you  well,  with  all  my  heart. 

Achil.     Why,  but  he  is  not  in  this  tune,  is  he? 

Ther.  No,  but  he  's  out  o'  tune  thus.  What 
music  will  be  in  him  when  Hector  has  knocked  out 
his  brains,  I  know  not ;  but,  I  am  sure,  none,  unless 
the  fiddler  Apollo  get  his  sinews  to  make  catlings  '  on. 

Achil.  Come,  thou  shalt  bear  a  letter  to  him 
straight. 

Ther.  Let  me  bear  another  to  his  horse ;  for 
that  's  the  more  capable  2  creature. 

Achil.      My    mind  is    troubled,    like   a   fountain 
stirr'd ; 
And  I  myself  see  not  the  bottom  of  it. 

\Excimt  Achilles  and  Patroclus. 

Ther.  Would  the  fountain  of  your  mind  were 
clear  again,  that  I  might  water  an  ass  at  it !  I  had 
rather  be  a  tick  in  a  sheep  than  such  a  valiant  igno- 
rance. 

»  Lute-strings  made  of  catgut.  •  Intelligent. 


Troilus  and  Cressida.  241 


ACT    IV. 

LOVERS    PARTING   IN   THE    MORNING. 

Troilus.     O  Cressida  !  but  that  the  busy  day, 
Waked  by  the  lark,  hath  roused  the  ribald  ^  crows, 
And  dreaming  night  will  hide  our  joys  no  longer, 
I  would  not  from  thee. 

Cressida.  Night  hath  been  too  brief. 

Tro.     Beshrew  the  witch  !  with  venomous  wights 
she  stays 
As  tediously  as  hell,  but  flies  the  grasps  of  love 
With  wings  more  momentary-swift  than  thought. 


A  lover's  farewell. 

Injurious  time  now  with  a  robber's  haste 

Crams  his  rich  thievery  up,  he  knows  not  how : 

As  many  farewells  as  be  stars  in  heaven. 

With  distinct  breath  and  consigned  '^  kisses  to  them. 

He  fumbles  up  into  a  loose  adieu. 

And  scants  us  with  a  single  famished  kiss, 

Distasted  with  the  salt  of  broken^  tears. 


troilus'    character   of   the   GRECIAN   YOUTHS. 

The  Grecian  youths  are  full  of  quality ;  * 
They  're  loving,  well  composed  with  gifts  of  nature 
flowing 

1  Lewd,  noisy.  ■'Sealed. 

8  Interrupted.  *  Highly  accomplished. 


242  Beauties  of  Shakspeare. 

And  swelling  o'er  with  arts  and  exercise : 
How  novelty  may  move,  and  parts  with  person, 
Alas,  a  kind  of  godly  jealousy  — 
Which,  I  beseech  you,  call  a  virtuous  sin  — 
Makes  me  afeard. 


A   TRUMPETER. 

Now  crack  thy  lungs,  and  split  thy  brazen  pipe : 

Blow,  villain,  till  thy  sphered  bias  cheek 

Out  swell  the  colic  of  puff'd  Aquilon : 

Come,   stretch    thy  chest,    and   let   thy   eyes    spout 

blood ; 
Thou  blow'st  for  Hector. 


DIOMEDES'    MANNER    OF   WALKING. 


'T  is  he,  I  ken  the  manner  of  his  gait ; 
He  rises  on  the  toe  :  that  spirit  of  his 
In  aspiration  lifts  him  from  the  earth. 


DESCRIPTION   OF   CRESSIDA. 

There  's  language  in  her  eye,  her  cheek,  her  lip, 
Nay,  her  foot  speaks ;  her  wanton  spirits  look  out 
At  every  joint  and  motive  '  of  her  body. 
O,  these  encounterers,  so  glib  of  tongue. 
That  give  accosting  welcome  ere  it  comes. 
And  wide  unclasp  the  tables  of  their  thoughts 
To  every  ticklish  reader !  set  them  down 

1  Motion. 


Troilus  and  Cressida,  243 

For  sluttish  spoils  of  opportunity 
And  daughters  of  the  game. 

CHARACTER    OF    TROILUS. 

The  youngest  son  of  Priam,  a  true  knight, 
Not  yet  mature,  yet  matchless,  firm  of  word, 
Speaking  in  deeds  and  deedless  ^  in  his  tongue ; 
Not  soon  provoked  nor  being  provoked  soon  calm'd ; 
His  heart  and  hand  both  open  and  both  free ; 
For  what  he  has  he  gives,  what  thinks  he  shows ; 
Yet  gives  he  not  till  judgment  guide  his  bounty. 
Nor  dignifies  an  impair  ^  thought  with  breath ; 
Manly  as  Hector,  but  more  dangerous ; 
For  Hector  in  his  blaze  of  wrath  subscribes  ^ 
To  tender  objects,  but  he  in  heat  of  action 
Is  more  vindicative  than  jealous  love. 

HECTOR    IN   BATTLE. 

I  have,  thou  gallant  Trojan,  seen  thee  oft 

Labouring  for  destiny  make  cruel  way 

Through  ranks  of  Greekish  youth,  and  I  have  seen 

thee. 
As  hot  as  Perseus,  spur  thy  Phrygian  steed. 
Despising  many  forfeits  and  subduements. 
When  thou  hast  hung  thy  advanced  sword  i'  the  air. 
Not  letting  it  decline  on  the  declined,^ 
That  I  have  said  to  some  my  standers  by 
'  Lo,  Jupiter  is  yonder,  dealing  life  ! ' 

I  No  boaster.  2  Unsuitable  to  his  character. 

3  Yields,  gives  way.        *  Fallen. 


244  Beauties  of  Shakspeare, 

And  I  have  seen  thee  pause  and  take  thy  breath. 
When  that  a  ring  of  Greeks  have  hemmed  thee  m. 
Like  an  Olympian  wrestling. 

ACHILLES  SURVEYING  HECTOR. 

Tell  me,  you  heavens,  in  which  part  of  his  body 
Shall  I  destroy  him?  whether  there,  or  there,  or  there? 
That  I  may  give  the  local  wound  a  name 
And  make  distinct  the  very  breach  whereout 
Hector's  great  spirit  flew  :  answer  me,  heavens  ! 


ACT   V. 

RASH   VOWS. 

The  gods  are  deaf  to  hot  and  peevish  ^  vows  : 
They  are  polluted  offerings,  more  abhorred 
Than  spotted  livers  in  the  sacrifice. 

HONOUR   MORE   DEAR   THAN    LIFE. 

Mine  honour  keeps  the  weather  of  my  fate  : 
Life  every  man  holds  dear ;  but  the  brave  man 
Holds  honour  far  more  precious-dear'^  than  life. 

PITY    TO    BE    DISCARDED    IN   WAR. 

For  the  love  of  all  the  gods 
Let  's  leave  the  hermit  pity  with  our  mothers, 
And  when  we  have  our  armours  buckled  on, 
The  venom'd  vengeance  ride  upon  our  swords. 

1  Foolish.  'Valuable. 


INDEX 


INDEX. 


PAGE 

Achilles  described  by  Ulysses ii.,  226 

surveying  Hector ii.,  244 

Action,  the  power  of i.,  125 

to  be  carried  on  with  resolution i.,  275 

Adversity,  advantages  of i.,  il 

the  trial  of  man ii.,  225 

Advice i.,  3 

to  a  son  going  on  his  travels ii.,  61 

Affectation  in  words i.,  62 

Affection,  natural,  allied  to  love i.,  iii 

Age,  old i.,  27,  ii.,  68 

despised ii.,  158 

Ages,  the  seven,  a  description  of i.,  17 

Allegiance,  firm,  described i.,  280 

Ambition  jealous  of  a  too  successful  firiend ii.,  9 

clothed  in  specious  humility ii.,  94 

Ambitious  love i.,  3 

Anarchy,  the  mischief  of ii.,  24 

ideal i->  99 

Anger  described , i.,  275 

Antony,  Marc,  his  vices  and  virtues ii.,  4 

his  speech  to  Cleopatra  at  his  return  with  victory  .  ii.,  12 

his  despondency ii.,  12 

his  reflections  on  his  faded  glory ".,13 

his  address  to  the  corpse  of  Caesar ii.,  98 

his  speech  to  the  conspirators ii.,  99 

funeral  oration  of ii.,  100-105 

his  character  of  Brutus „   .    .    .   .  ii.,  115 

Aposiopesis,  a  fine i.,  99 


248  Index, 

PAGE 

Appearances,  false,  described i.,  219 

Applause,  description  of i.,  283 

Ariel,  songs  of i.,  97,  no 

Army,  routed,  description  of  one ii.,  54 

Arthur,  pathetic  speeches  of,  to  Hubert i.,  156 

Assignation i.,  68 

Astrology  ridiculed ii-,  117 

Aufidias,  his  hatred  to  Coriolanus ii.,  22 

Authority,  abuse  of i.,  4° 

the  privilege  of i.,  41 

Bargains,  punctuality  in .  .  1.,  191 

Bastardy ii.,  116 

Battle,  an  uncertain i.,  248 

Bawd,  the  practices  of  one  condemned i-i  4^ 

Beauty i.,  10,  29 

virtuous,  the  power  of !•,  41 

a  scornful  and  satirical  one i.,  81 

petitioning  in  vain i.,  123 

description  of  a ii.,  182 

Bedlam  beggars ii.,  120 

Bees,  the  commonwealth  of,  described i.,  217 

Benedick  the  bachelor's  recantation i-i  79 

Birth,  high i.,  260 

Boaster o   .    .   .  i.,  147 

Bolingbroke's  public  entry  into  London  described  .   .  i.,  176 

Bore i.,  191 

Boy,  description  of  a  beautiful  one i.,  112 

Braggart ii.,  49 

a  cowardly  one i.,  8 

Braggarts,  talking i.,  85,  87 

Bribery,  honest i.,  41 

Brutus  and  Cassius,  tent  scene  between ii.,  106-112 

the  parting  of ii.,  114 

Buckingham,  Duke  of,  his  prayer  for  the  king  ....  i.,  276 

Ci^SAR,  his  dislike  of  Cassius ii.,  93 


Index.  249 

PAGE 

CvBSAR,  continued. 

his  ghost  appears  to  Brutus ii.,  112 

his  fame !.,  266 

Caliban,  curses  of !•.  95.  100 

his  exultation  after  having  attempted  the  chastity 

of  Miranda !•,  97 

his  promises i.,  loi 

Calumny ii.,  73 

Cassius,  his  contempt  for  Caesar ii,,  91 

Ceremony  insincere ii.,  105 

Change,  prognostics  of i.,  167 

Chastity i.,  8,  ii.,  34 

Cheerfulness i.,  50 

Child,  the  father  of  the  man i.,  130 

Christmas-time,  reverence  paid  to ii.,  57 

Churchman,  description  of  one i.,  286 

Clarence's  dream  in  the  tower i.,  261 

Cleopatra,  her  solicitude  on  the  absence  of  Antony  .  ii.,  5 

her  sailing  down  the  Cydnus  described ii.,  6 

her  infinite  power  of  pleasing ii.,  8 

her  supposed  death,  description  of ii.,  14 

her  reflections  on  the  death  of  Antony ii.,  14 

her  description  of  Antony ii.,  16 

her  speech  on  applying  the  asp ii.,  17 

Cominius,  his  praise  of  Coriolanus  in  the  senate     .    ,  ii.,  23 

Comparison,  a  scathing i.,  194 

Compassion  and  clemency  superior  to  revenge  ...  i.,  108 

Conduct  in  war  superior  to  action ii.,  228 

Confidence,  a  husband's i.,  187 

Conscience i.,  272 

guilty i.,  106,  ii.,  156 

the  death-bed  horrors  of  a i.,  243 

a  good  one  described i.,  241 

the  struggles  of i.,  158 

a  murderer's  account  of i.,  264 

Consideration i.,  216 

Consolation  under  banishment i.,  164 


250  Index. 

PAGE 

Conspiracy,  horrors  of i.,  152 

dreadful  till  executed ii.,  95 

Brutus's  apostrophe  to ii.,  95 

Contemplation,  zealous,  described i.,  267 

Content,  perfect ii.,  164 

Contention i.,  202 

Continence  before  marriage i.,  106 

Contrasts i.,  207 

Cordelia,  her  speech  on  the  ingratitude  of  her  sisters,  ii.,  130 

Coriolanus,  warring ii.,  21 

character  of ii.,  25 

his  abhorrence  of  flattery ii.,  26 

his  detestation  of  the  vulgar  .    .    .    , ii.,  27 

his  prayer  for  his  son ...  ii.,  34 

Counsel  of  no  weight  in  misery i.,  86 

Countenance,  a  guilty  one  described i.,  240 

Country,  an  oppressed  one ii.,  153 

Courage ,    .   .    .  i.,  147 

in  youth i.,  10 

Courtesans,  Timon's  reflections  on ii.,  211 

Courtier,  noble,  character  of  a i.,  4 

a  conceited  one i.,  29 

finical,  description  of  one  by  Hotspur i-,  183 

Cowardice i.,  4,  164 

and  perjury i-,  151 

Cranmer,  Archbishop,  his  prophecy  respecting  Queen 

Elizabeth i.,  287 

Creed,  an  innkeeper's i.,  221 

Cressida,  description  of  her ii.,  242 

Crown,  reflections  on  a •.   .   .  i.,  208 

the  transports  of  a i.,  246 

a  king's  true i.,  250 

Cruelty,  dissuasions  from  exercising ii.,  95 

Crusade      i.,  182 

Cupid's  parentage i.,  22 

Customs,  new  ones  followed     .• i.,  276 


Index,  251 

PAGE 

Danger i.,  185,  ii.,  98 

escape  from i.,  m 

takes  hold  of  any  support i.,  155 

of  high  position i.,  260 

Daybreak i.,  74,  88,  270 

Death ii.,  16,  55 

temporal,  far  better  than  eternal i-.  44 

terrors  of i-.  47 

most  in  apprehension i.,  46 

apostrophe  to i.,  153 

approach  of i.,  162 

arguments  against  the  fear  of ii.,  98 

Deceit  in  a  fine  woman i.,  265 

Deed,  a  good  one  compared  to  a  candle i-,  65 

Defamation i.,  25 

Degree,  reflections  on  one ii.,  226 

Delay,  against 1.,  9 

Delights,  violent  ones  not  lasting ii.,  190 

Departing  diseases,  strength  of i.,  155 

Dependents  not  to  be  too  much  trusted  by  great  men,  i.,  276 

Desdemona,  her  fidelity ii.,  175 

Desire  of  beloved  objects  heightened  by  their  loss      .  i-,  85 

Despair,  description  of i.,  160,  ii.,  222 

Despondency i.,  155 

Determined  love i.,  112 

Dew  in  flowers i.,  74 

Diomedes,  his  manner  of  walking ii.,  242 

Dirge,  a  funeral  one ii.,  52 

Disguise i.,  113 

Dislike,  unseasonable,  excuse  for i.,  9 

Dissimulation i.,  83 

Doubt,  description  of ii.,  229 

Dover  cliff,  description  of ii,,  128 

Dreams,  before  battle i.,  270 

reflections  on ii.,  180 

Drums i.,  161 

Drunkards  enchanted  by  Ariel i..  107 


252  Index. 

PAGE 

Duelling,  arguments  against ii.,  207 

Duty,  modest,  always  acceptable i.,  76 

doing  of  it  merits  no  praise ii.,  21 

Dying  with  the  person  beloved  preferable  to  parting,  i.,  242 

Edgar,  his  account  of  discovering  himself  to   his 

father ii.,  134 

Eloquence  and  beauty i.,  36 

England,  description  of i.,  146 

invincible  if  unanimous i.,  163 

pathetically  described !.,  166 

apostrophe  to i.,  168,  218 

English  curiosity,  satire  on i.,  100 

superiority  over  the  French i.,  221 

army  described      i.,  146 

miserable  state  of 1.,  231 

Envy ii.,  98 

Evening,  a  fine  one i.,  270 

Evils,  the  remedy  of  them  generally  in  ourselves    .  .  i.,  4 

Expedition !.,  268 

Eyes,  women's i.,  33 

Face,  a  red i.,  196 

Fairies  and  magic i.,  109 

Fairy  jealousy,  and  its  effects i.,  70 

bank  described i.,  72 

courtesies i.,  72 

Falstaff  described  by  himself i.,  188 

described  by  Prince  Hal i.,  189 

his  catechism i.,  199 

Family  resemblance i.,  132 

Father,  authority  of  one i.,  67 

lamenting  his  daughter's  infamy i-,  83 

fondness  of  one  for  his  child i.,  129 

passion  of  one  on  the  murder  of  a  favourite  child,  i.,  247 

the  best  guest  at  his  son's  nuptials           .....  i.,  140 

anger  of  one ii.,  116, 194 


Index,  253 


PAGE 

Father,  continued. 

the  curse  of  one  on  his  child ii.,  118 

Faults  of  others  no  justification  of  our  own i.,  38 

Favourites  compared  to  honeysuckles i.,  80 

Fear,  the  way  of !.,  173 

Female  friendship i*.  73 

Females,  cautions  to  young  ones ii.,  60 

Ferdinand,  his  swimming  ashore  described i.,  98 

and  Miranda,  interesting  scene  between    .   .    .   i.,  101-105 

Filial  ingratitude ii.,  118 

Flattery  and  an  even-minded  man,  description  of    .   .  ii.,  76 

Fleet  setting  sail,  description  of i.,  223 

Foes,  magnanimous ii.,  28 

Fool,  description  of  one,  and  his  moralizing  on  time  .  i.,  14 

his  Uberty  of  speech i.,  15 

Fool-hardiness ii,,  49 

Forgiveness,  mutual,  the  duty  of i-j  39 

Fornication  equal  to  murder i-.  43 

Fortitude,  true ii.,  139 

Fortune i-,  64 

described i.,  208 

forms  our  judgments ii.,  10 

Fortune-teller,  description  of  a  beggarly  one     ....  i.,  26 

France,  state  of,  after  the  war i.,  234 

Frank  speech  no  sign  of  malice i.,  259 

Friend,  a  forsaken  one ii.,  209 

Friends,  parting  of i.,  56 

Friendship  in  love i.,  79 

martial ii.,  30 

Friendships,  common ii.,  28 

Frost i.,  29 

Fury  expels  fear ii.,  1 1 

Garden  scene  in  Romeo  and  Juliet ii.,  182-190 

Garland  for  old  men i.,  135 

for  middle-aged  men i.,  136 

for  young  men i.,  137 


254  Index. 

PAGB 

Gentleman,  an  accomplished  young  one i.,  120 

Gentlewoman,  a  beautiful i*,  92 

Ghost,  description  of  one  appearing  in  a  dream  ...  i.,  133 

Ghosts  vanish  at  the  crowing  of  a  cock ii-,  5^ 

Glory  described     .        i.,  236 

Gloucester,  Duke  of,  his  deformity i.,  251 

his  dissimulation i.,  251 

Duchess   of,  her  remonstrance  to  her  husband 

when  doing  penance i.,  238 

Earl  of,  his  farewell  to  the  world ii.,  129 

God,  goodness  of,  ever  to  be  remembered i.,  238 

Gods,  justice  of  the ii-,  i34 

Gold,  reflections  on i.,  209,  ii.,  215 

effects  of ii.,  40,  209 

Governor,  a  severe  one i'l  37 

Gratitude  in  an  old  servant !•,  13 

Gravity,  affected i.>  S^ 

assumed     i.,  54 

Greatness i.,  n6 

subject  to  censure J-,  49 

the  cares  of i.,  264 

when  falling  described i.,  281 

departing ii.,  13 

contemptible  when  on  the  decline ii.,  236 

Grief i.,  151,  167 

tokens  of i.,  150 

real ii.,  57 

immoderate,  discommended ii.,  58 

Griefs,  the  greater  ones  destroy  the  less i.,  204 

Hamlet,  his  soliloquy  on  his  mother's  marriage   .   .       ii.,  58 
his  speech  on  the  appearance  of  his  father's  ghost, 
and  the  mischiefs  it  might  tempt  him  to     .    .   .ii.,62,63 

and  the  ghost,  scene  between ii.,  63-67 

his  mad  address,  described  by  Ophelia ii.,  67 

his  reflections  on  the  player  and  himself    ....        ii.,  69 
his  soliloquy  on  life  and  death ii.,  72 


Index.  255 


PAGE 

Hamlet,  continued. 

his  instructions  to  the  players ii.,  74 

his  reflections  on  the  king ii.,  77 

conference  between  him  and  his  mother    ....  ii.,  79-85 

his  irresolution ii.,  86 

his  reflections  on  Yorick's  skull ii.,  88 

Happiness  consists  in  opinion ii.,  69 

Hatred,  remorseless i.,  241 

Health,  a ii.,  90 

Heart,  faint,  ne'er  won  fair  lady i.,  237 

Hector,  description  of  him  in  battle "'.243 

Henry  IV.,  his  character  of  Percy  and  Prince  Henry  .  i.,  182 

his  pathetic  address  to  his  son i.,  192 

Henry,  Prince,  soliloquy  of i.,  183 

gallant  challenge  of i.,  198 

modest  defence  of  himself i.,  195 

and  his  father,  scene  between i.,  209-214 

v.,  character  of,  by  his  father i.,  207 

by  the  Constable  of  France  ...  i.,  221 

his  prayer  before  battle i.,  230 

perfections  of i.,  216 

speech  before  the  battle  of  Agincourt i.,  232 

VI.,  on  his  own  lenity  . i.,  252 

VIII.,  his  character  of  Queen  Katharine  ....  i.,  279 

Honour i.,  186 

due  to  personal  virtue  only,  not  to  birth     ....  i.,  5 

a  maid's i.,  7 

to  be  conferred  on  merit  only i.,  56 

and  policy ii.,  25 

must  be  active  to  preserve  its  lustre ii.,  236 

more  dear  than  life ii.,  244 

Hope i.,  44.  123, 269 

deceitful i.,  167 

Horse,  the  dauphin's i.,  222 

Hotspur,  his  impatience  for  the  battle i.,  197 

his  death i.,  199 

Hounds i.,  75,  89 


256  Index, 

PAGB 

Hunting J..  74 

Husband,  a  domineering i.,  91 

Hypocrisy i-.  S3,  160,  ii.,  72 

of  Angelo i.,  46 

Hypocrite,  the  character  of  an  arch  one i.,  49 

Iago,  his  dispraise  of  honesty ii.,  160 

Imagination,  the  power  of i-,  75 

Imogen,  her  bedchamber,  scene  of ii.,  38 

supposed  dead ii.,  50 

awaking ii-.SS 

Inconstancy  in  man i.,  127 

Infant,  exposing  of  one i.,  132,  134 

Infidelity  in  a  friend i.,  127 

Infirmity,  the  faults  of,  pardonable  . ii.,  120 

Ingratitude,  a  song i.,  18 

hatred  of i.,  117 

of  false  friends ii.,  205 

miserable  shifts  of ii.,  206 

Inhumanity  described i.,  286 

Innocence i.,  133 

discovered  by  the  countenance i.,  84 

youthful i.,  129 

silent,  its  eloquence i.,  132 

harmless ii.,  49 

Insects,  cruelty  to ii.,  222 

Isle,  an  enchanted i.,  105 

Ivy,  a  usurping  substitute  compared  to  it !••  94 

Jealousy i.,  25, 130 

a  woman's,  more  deadly  than  poison i.,  26 

definition  of ii.,  166 

the  tortures  of ii.,  167-169 

Jest  and  Jester i*,  33 

Jester i.,  n6 

Jew,  malice  of  the i.,  52 

expostulation  of  the i.,  S3 


Index,  257 

PAGE 

Jew,  continued. 

his  commands  to  his  daughter i.,  54 

his  revenge i-i  57 

Joan  of  Arc i.,  236 

Joy  changed  to  sorrow ii.,  199 

Juliet,  resolution  of ii-i  i97 

her  soliloquy  on  drinking  the  opiate ii.,  197 

Justice i-,  40 

Lord  Chief,  his  speech  to  King  Henry  V.,  whom 

he  had  imprisoned i.,  214 

Katharine,  Queen,  her  speech  to  her  husband    .   .  i.,  277 

her  speech  to  Cardinal  Wolsey i.,  278 

on  her  own  merit i->  279 

compared  to  a  lily i.,  280 

King,  in  Hamlet,  his  despairing  soliloquy ii.,  jj 

a  deposed i.,  173 

curse  of  one i.,  174 

renunciation  of  one i.,  174 

the  steed  of  one i.,  180 

reply  of  one i.,  215 

anger  of  one i.,  281 

Kingdom  compared  to  a  garden i.,  171 

Kings,  evil  purposes  of,  too  servilely  executed  ....  i.,  159 

divine  right  of i.,  169 

misery  of i.,  170 

divinity  of ii.,  87 

Knowledge  sometimes  hurtful i.,  131 

Labour     ii.,  48 

Lady,  a  complete  one i.,  149 

Lass,  a  pretty i.,  138 

Lavinia  and  her  lute ii.,  221 

the  loss  of  her  tongue  described ii.,  221 

Leader,  loss  of  one i.,  203 

Lear,  on  the  ingratitude  of  his  daughters ii.,  122 

his  distress  in  the  storm     ..,,,,,,...  ii.»i23 


258  Index, 


PAGE 

Lear,  continued. 

his  exclamations  in  the  tempest ii.,  123-127 

his  distraction  described ii.,  128 

his  description  of  his  flatterers ii.,  129 

and  Cordelia,  scene  between ii.,  131 

his  speech  to  Cordelia  when  taken  prisoner  .    .   .  ii-,  133 

on  the  death  of  Cordelia ii.,  135 

dying ii.,  136 

Liberty  indulged,  the  consequence  of !•,  3^ 

spirit  of ii.,  94 

Life  chequered i.,  8 

reflections  on  the  vanity  of i«.  44 

recluse,  described i.,  67 

demands  action i.,  199 

the  vicissitudes  of i.,  281 

loathed ii.,  12 

and  death,  soliloquy  on ii.,  72 

necessaries  of  it  few ii.,  122 

reflections  on ii.,  159 

Lightness  of  foot !.,  108 

Lion,  a  hungry  one  described i.,  246 

Loquacity i.,  51 

Love i.,  23,  69,  ii.,  180 

humorous  description  of i.,  30,  119 

the  power  of i.,  32 

in  a  grave,  severe  governor i-,  42 

messenger,  compared  to  an  April  day i-i  57 

true,  ever  crossed i.,  68 

in  idleness » i.,  71 

true i.,  113,  139 

at  first  sight i.,  112 

determined i.,  112 

concealed ' i.,  115 

unsought i.,  116 

commended  and  censured i.,  118 

froward  and  dissembling i.,  118 

compared  to  an  April  day ,   ,  ,  i.,  "9 


Index,  259 


PAGE 

Love,  continued. 

compared  to  a  waxen  image i.,  121 

contempt  of  it  punished i.,  120 

increased  by  attempts  to  suppress  it i.,  121 

compared  to  a  figure  on  ice i.,  123 

unreturned i.,  127 

cemented  by  prosperity,  but  loosened  by  adversity,  i. ,  141 

the  nobleness  of  life ii.,  3 

sole  motive  of  Othello's  marrying ii.,  161 

heralds  of ii.,  190 

invitation  to ii.,  219 

in  a  brave  young  soldier ii.,  224 

constancy  in,  protested ii.,  235 

shook  off  by  a  soldier ii.,  238 

worth  of i.,  140 

Lover,  a  description  of  one i.,  14,  19 

a  successful  one  compared  to  a  conqueror    ...  i.,  60 
his   thoughts  compared  to  the  inarticulate  joys  of 

a  crowd i.,  61 

speech  of  one i.,  98 

protestation  of  one i.,  106 

his  banishment i.,  122 

a  faithful  and  constant  one i.,  122 

description  of  one  in  solitude i.,  126 

commendation  of  one i.,  138 

exclamation  of  one ii,,  164 

his  computation  of  time ii.,  170 

an  expecting  one  described ii.,  234 

the  farewell  of  one ii.,  241 

Lovers  parting i,,  242,  ii.,  36 

unsettled  humours  of ii.,  8 

light  of  foot ii.,  190 

impatience  of ii.,  191 

their  reluctance  to  part ii.,  193 

parting  in  the  morning ii.,  241 

Loyalty 11.^  10 


26o  Index. 


PAGE 

Macbeth,  his  temper ii.,  137 

his  irresolution ii.,  138 

his  guilty  conscience  and  fears  of  Banquo    .   .    .  ii.,  145 
Lady,   her  soliloquy   on   the   news   of  Duncan's 

approach ii.,  138 

murdering  scene  in ii,,  140-144 

Macduff,  his  behaviour  on  the  murder  of  his  wife  and 

children ii.,  154-156 

Madness  occasioned  by  poison i.,  162 

Maidens,  their  prayers  effectual    ...        i-i  37 

Malcolm,  his  character  of  himself ii.,iSi 

Malicious  men  described i.,  286 

Man,  description  of  a  merry  one i.,  29 

a  perfect i.,  98 

in  love,  humorous  description  of i.,  119 

three  things  in  him  disliked  by  females i.,  124 

in  tears i.,  161 

how  to  choose  one .  i.,  207 

a  plain  blunt  one  described ii.,  119 

reflections  on ii.,  69,  127 

his  preeminence i.,  24 

Margaret,   Queen,  her  speech  before  the  battle  of 

Tewkesbury i.,  253 

her  execrations  on  Richard  III i.,  260 

her  exprobration  in  a  soliloquy i.,  268 

Marriage  described i.,  237 

alters  the  temper  of  both  sexes i.,  21 

portion,  a i.,  90 

Master  taking  leave  of  his  servants ii.,  11 

Mediocrity i*,  52 

Melancholy ii.,89 

the  varieties  of i.,  21 

the  parent  of  error ii.,  114 

Men,  all  frail i.,  38 

wilful .  ii.,  122 

fickleness  of i.,  250 

Mercy i.,  63,  ii.,  219 


Index,  261 

PAGE 

Mercy,  continued. 

frequently  mistaken      i-.  39 

commended  in  governors i-i  39 

Merit  always  modest    . i.,  79 

Messenger,  post,  described i.,  202 

with  ill  news i.,  203 

Midnight ii.,  76 

Mind,  lowliness  of  the i-.  43 

the,  alone  valuable i*.  92 

not  at  ease i.,  280 

a  disordered  one ii.,  73 

its  diseases  incurable ii.,  158 

Miranda,  the  wooing  of i.,  loi 

Mirror  of  fashion i.,  205 

Mirth  and  melancholy !•,  50 

Mob ii.,  20 

Modesty  and  courage  in  youth .  i.,  10 

Moon i.,  69 

Moonlight i.,  64 

night i.,  66 

Morning,  description  of i.,  248,  ii.,  57 

Mother,  fondness  of  one  for  a  beautiful  child  ....  i.,  151 

ravings  of  one i.,  153 

grief  of  one  for  the  loss  of  her  son i.,  154 

Murder  of  the  two  young  princes  in  the  Tower,  de- 
scription of i.,  267 

Murderer,  countenance  of  one i.,  158 

Muse,  invocation  to i.,  216 

Music      i.,  58,  64,  97,  III 

the  power  of -    .  i.,  124 

and  time i.,  179 

Nature,  the  force  of ii.,  46 

and  art •    .    .    .  i.,  136 

News-bearers i.,  158 

Night,  description  of i.,  76,  243 

in  a  camp  described i.,  223 

before  the  battle i.,  225 


262  Index, 

PAGS 

Obedience  to  princes i.,  280 

Octavia's  entrance,  what  it  should  have  been    ....  ii.,  9 

Offences  mistaken ii.,  121 

Oliver,  his  description  of  danger  when  sleeping  ...  i.,  22 

Ophelia,  description  of  her  death      ii-,  87 

her  interment ii.,  89 

Opportunity  to  be  seized  on  all  occasions  of  life  .    .   .  ii.,  112 

Ornament,  or  appearance,  the  deceit  of i-.  59 

Othello,  his  description  to  the  Senate  of  his  winning 

the  affection  of  Desdemona ii.,  161 

his  first  suspicion ii.,  164 

his  jealousy  gaining  ground ii.,  166 

his  story  of  the  handkerchief ii.,  169 

his  distraction ii.,  170 

his  fondness ii.,  171 

his  confirmed  jealousy ii.,  172 

his  pathetic  upbraidings  of  Desdemona     .   .    .  ii..  172-175 

his  irresolution  to  murder  Desdemona ii.,  176 

his  confusion  after  the  murder ii,,  177 

his  love ii.,  177 

his  remorse ii.,  177 

his  speech  before  his  death ii.,  178 

Pageant,  a  royal i.,  274 

Painting i.,  89 

to  what  compared ii.,  204 

Pardon,  the  sanction  of  wickedness      i.,  37 

despair  of i.,  133 

Passion,  real,  dissembled i.,  20 

too  strong  for  vows      i.,  107 

a  rising  one  described ii.,  121 

Pastors,  ungracious,  satires  on ii.,  61 

Patience  easier  taught  than  practised i.,  24 

and  sorrow ii.,  128 

Patriotism ii.,  91 

Peace  inspires  love !•,  78 

after  a  civil  war i.,  i8i 


Index,  263 

PAGE 

Peace,  continued. 

after  a  siege ii.,  35 

People,  Brutus'  speech  to  the ii.,  99 

Percy,  Lady,  her  pathetic  speech  to  her  husband    .   .  i.,  186 

Perfection  admits  of  no  addition i'.  I57 

human,  the  extent  of ii.,  60 

Person,  description  of  a  murdered  one i.,  240 

Petition,  a  tender  one i.,  16 

Philosophy,  a  shepherd's i-,  19 

Pity  to  be  discarded  in  war ii.,  244 

Play-fellows i.,  10 

Pleasure,  the  vanity  of i.,  28 

and  revenge ii.,  229 

of  doing  good ii.,  204 

Pleasures  of  the  court i.,  256 

Poetry,  the  power  of,  with  females i.,  124 

Popular  favour,  method  to  gain ii.,  25 

Popularity  described i.,  165,  ii.,  22 

Portia,  her  suitors i.,  55 

her  picture i.,  60 

her  speech  to  Brutus ii.,  96 

Possession  more  languid  than  expectation i..  55 

Power,  vanity  of i.,  170 

abuse  of ii.,  130 

Precepts  against  ill-fortune ii.,  27 

Preferment ii.,  160 

Presents  prevail  with  women i.,  122 

lightly  regarded  by  real  lovers i.,  139 

Pride  cures  pride ii.,  236 

Prodigies ii.,56 

ridiculed i.,  189 

Calpurnia's  address  on .  ii.,  97 

Promise  and  performance,  difference   between  .   .    .  ii.,  217 

Prophecy  of  King  Richard i,,  175 

Prospero's  reproof  of  Ariel i-i  95 

Providence  directs  our  actions ii.,  90 

the  justice  of ii.,  127 

Puck,  or  Robin  Goodfellow i.,  69 


264  Index, 

PAGE 

Quickly,  Dame,  her  account  of  Falstaifs  death   .   .  i.,  220 

Reason,  a  woman's i.,  118 

Regicides  detestable i.,  131 

Relenting  tenderness ii.,  33 

Repentance i.,  127 

Reputation i.,  164,  ii.,  165 

Resentment,  silent,  the  deepest i.,  239 

Resolution i.,  37,  84 

from  a  sense  of  honour i.,  46 

firm ii.,  17 

obstinate ii..  32 

Respect  described ii.,  228 

Revenge ii.,  99.  222 

the  Jew's  implacable i.,  61 

the  Jew's  reason  for i.,  62 

Revolt,  story  of  a i.,  169 

Revolutionist's  promise i.,  244 

Rhymers,  miserable  ones  ridiculed i.,  190 

Richard  III.,  omens  on  the  birth  of i-,  254 

his  soliloquy  on  his  own  deformity i.,  257 

his  love  for  Lady  Anne i.,  258 

his  praise  of  his  own  person i.,  259 

warning  against i.,  260 

his  hypocrisy i.,  261 

character  of,  by  his  mother i.,  269 

address  before  the  battle i-,  272 

his  behaviour  after  an  alarum i.,  273 

Richmond,  Duke  of,  his  prayer i.,  270 

Ring,  the  description  of  one ii.,  220 

Riot,  a  rash  fierce  blaze  of i.,  166 

Rising  early  the  way  to  eminence ii.,  12 

Romeo,  on  his  banishment ii.,  191-193 

his  description  of,  and  discourse  with,  the  apothe- 
cary .   .       ii.,  199 

his  contest  with  Paris ii.,  201 

his  last  speech  over  Juliet  in  the  tomb ii.,  202 


Index,  265 

PAGE 

Rosalind  proposing  to  wear  men's  clothes i.,  11 

Royalty,  miseries  of  . i.,  229 

inborn ii.,  50 

Rumour  described i.,  201 

Satire,  apology  for i.,  16 

Say,  Lord,  his  apology  for  himself i.,  245 

Scene  of  a  banquet ii.,  146-151 

Lady  Macbeth  in  her  sleep ii.,  156 

Season,  nothing  good  out  of i.,  65 

Seducers,  custom  of i.,  8 

Self-accusation  of  too  great  love i.,  6 

Self-denial,  a  conquest i.,  28 

Self-interest,  powerful  effects  of i.,  149 

Senses  returning i.,  109 

Shepherd,  character  of  an  honest  and  simple  one    .   .  i.,  19 

Shepherd's  life,  the  blessing  of  one      i.,  249 

Simplicity  and  duty !•,  7^ 

rural i.,  141 

Single  combat i.,  185 

Slander i.,   25,  ii.,  46 

Sleep i-.  99>  ii-,  96 

sound      i.,  49 

apostrophe  to i.,  206 

Solicitation,  the  season  of ii.,  32 

Soliloquy  in  prison i.,  178 

Solitude  preferred  to  a  court  life i.,  11 

Song i.,  31,  34,  48,  115,  125 

character  of  an  old  one i-,  114 

Sonnet i.,  31 

Sorrow,  effects  of  it i.,  264 

too  deep  for  tears i.,  131 

Sorrows  rarely  single ii.,  87 

Speculation  more  easy  than  practice i-,  52 

Spirit,  a  warlike  one  described i.,  218 

Spring,  a  song i.,  34 

Stag,  wounded,  reflections  on i.,  12 


266  Index, 

PAGE 

Station,  a  low,  the  blessings  of i.,  277 

Statue  described i.,  142 

Steward,  a  faithful  one ii.,  205 

Stoic  philosophers,  satire  on i.,  87 

Stories,  melancholy  ones  described i.,  175 

Storm,  Ariel's  description  and  management  of  one    .  i.,  94 

Study i.,  28 

Submission  to  heaven  our  duty i.,  265 

Success  not  equal  to  our  hopes ii.,  225 

Sun-rising  after  a  dark  night i.,  169 

Sycophants,  flattering  ones ii.,  119 

Tears i.,  108,  ii.,  222 

Thanks ii.,  219 

Thersites  mimicking  Ajax ii.,  238 

Thoughts,  ambitious,  a  simile  on i.,  251 

Thoughts  ineffectual  to  moderate  affliction i.,  165 

Time i.,  76 

Timon,  his  execration  of  the  Athenians ii.,  208 

his  speech  to  Alcibiades ii.,  210 

his  reflections  on  the  earth ii.,  212 

his  discourse  with  Apemantus ii.,  213 

his  speech  to  the  thieves ii.,  216 

his  character  of  an  honest  steward ii.,  217 

Titles,  new  ones i.,  145 

Tragedian,  the  deep i.,  266 

Travelling,  advantage  of i-,  "9 

Treason  and  murder i.,  219 

Trifles  determining  love i.,  126 

Troilus,  character  of ii.,  243 

Trumpeter,  description  of  one ii.,  242 

Trumpets  of  the  skies i.,  198 

Trust  in  man,  vanity  of i.,  266 

Ulysses,  the  subtilty  of  him,  and  stupidity  of  Ajax  .  ii.,  229-234 

Unkindness  described ii.,  121 

Valley,  description  of  a  melancholy  one ii.,  220 


Index,  267 

PAGE 

Vanity  of  human  nature i.,  107 

wishes ii.,  6 

Vicious  persons  infatuated  by  heaven ii.,  11 

Victory  by  the  French,  description  of i.,  148 

English,  description  of i.,  148 

Villain  to  be  noted i.,  87 

his  look  and  ready  zeal i.,  159 

Violets i.,  177 

Virtue  and  goodness i-,  47 

given  to  be  exerted i.,  36 

Volumnia's  resolution  on  the  pride  of  Coriolanus  .    .  ii.,  26 

pathetic  speech  to  her  son  Coriolanus ii.,  34 

Vows,  rash  ones,  condemned ii.,  244 

Vulgar,  fickleness  of  the i.,  205 

Warrior,  a  gallant  one i.,  197 

Warwick,  Earl  of.Jiis  dying  speech i.,  252 

Wedding,  a  mad  one  described i.,  90 

Widow  compared  to  a  turtle-dove i.,  142 

Wife,  duty  of  one  to  her  husband i.,  92 

song  of  one  to  her  husband i.,  192 

description  of  a  good  one i.,  277 

impatience  of  one  to  meet  her  husband     ....  ii.,  41 

innocency  of  one  .   .           .       ii.,  47 

baseness  of  falsehood  to  one ii.,  37 

Winter,  a  song !•.  35 

Wisdom  superior  to  fortune ii.,  11 

Witches  described ii.,  137 

power  of ii.,  151 

Wolsey,  Cardinal,  his  speech  to  Cromwell i.,  282 

an  account  of  his  death i.,  283 

his  vices  and  virtues  described i.,  284 

Woman,  her  tongue i-,  89 

should  be  youngest  in  love i.i  "4 

her  fears i.,  150 

resolved  and  ambitious i.,  238 

in  man's  appare! ii.,  47 


268  Index, 

PAGB 

Woman,  continued. 

frailty  of i-.  44 

want  greatly  prevails  on  them ii.,  lo 

satire  on ii.,  40 

Wonder  proceeding  from  sudden  joy i.,  141 

World,  its  true  value i^  5° 

Worldliness   .   .    .    , i.,  50 

Wreck,  a  clown's  description  of  one i.,  135 

Wrong  and  insolence  described ii.,  218 

York,  Duke  of,  his  death  described  by  Exeter  ...  i.,  233 

his  character  of  his  sons i.,  246 

in  battle,  description  of  him i.,  248 

Duchess  of,  her  lamentation  on  the  misfortunes  of 

her  family i.,  265 

Young  women,  advice  to  them i.,  7 

Youth,  courage  and  modesty  in  them    .    .« i.,  10 

the  boasting  of i.,  61 

Youths,  Grecian,  described  by  Troilus ii.,  241 


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